


Temptation Waits

by illyriazshell



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Vampire AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5981416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriazshell/pseuds/illyriazshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was unquestionably the enthralling creature who had unwittingly drawn Hannibal.</p><p>In a word, he was delectable.</p><p>And Hannibal was determined to <i>devour</i> him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had both vampires and _Hannibal_ swirling around in my head for a while now, and this was the result. This was supposed to be a short little one-shot, but these boys had other plans. Enjoy ^_^
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** While this story doesn't cross-over with any other property, there are elements of the mythology that are taken from various sources (mainly _The Vampire Diaries/The Originals_ , but also _BtVS_ , _True Blood_ and, very loosely, _iZombie_ ) and blended with my own take on vampire lore.

The heavy beat of electronic music pounded ever louder as Hannibal swept up the narrow stairway into the dark, crowded club.

His overly sensitive hearing did not permit him to enjoy the harsh, thumping base or screeching synthesizers that played non-stop; his ears were more finely attuned to the melodic reverberations of a classical piano piece or the harmony of a perfectly tuned orchestra. But, with much patience, he had trained himself to dampen undesirable auditory sensations, retreating ever so slightly into the recesses of his mind, into a room echoing symphonies, so he no longer winced when he encountered the overwhleming cacophony that filled most night-clubs.

Which, in the long run, was to his benefit. Repeat hunting would hardly go unnoticed at the opera.

Hannibal closed his eyes, inhaling the sweat and heat and arousal pouring off every undulating body in the cramped space before him. The careless indulgence, the unrestrained debauchery; everything blended into a heady aroma that Hannibal found irresistible. The young, beautiful, half-naked things in a club like this were so often naïve to the bounty of life with which they were bursting. The closest Hannibal would ever come to Heaven was as he witnessed their enlightenment while draining that very life out of them.

Amongst the rich bouquet of the crowd, a waft of something truly unique and appetising cut through everything, immediately catching his attention. Hannibal opened his eyes and scanned the mob hungrily, moving through the tangled mass of bodies with preternatural grace, declining every advance with controlled smiles and dismissive gestures, entirely focused on identifying the source of the mouth-watering scent. His excitement built as the air became thicker with it, a tiny thrill racing up his spine as he weaved his way through the masses.

When he had traversed the dance floor, Hannibal’s eyes finally fell to the bar. At the far end of it, around the side and out of the way, sat a man, no older than thirty, back hunched and eyes averted downward. He had an unruly mop of brown curls and wore thick-rimmed glasses to obscure his face, but they did nothing to hide him from Hannibal’s intense gaze. Or his flawless sense of smell. Even in a ratty short-sleeve flannel button-down and jeans torn decidedly without concern for fashion, this was unquestionably the enthralling creature who had unwittingly drawn Hannibal.

In a word, he was delectable.

And Hannibal was determined to _devour_ him.

“You look as if you would rather be anywhere other than the establishment you have chosen this evening,” Hannibal observed, having to almost yell over the music but maintaining his silk-like cadence as he slid onto the adjacent stool.

The young man startled, eyes darting sideways quickly before curling in on himself. Hannibal’s predatory pulse raced at the innocent display of vulnerability, but his expression remained open, friendly, betraying none of his wicked intent.

The man snorted. “Your slick way of asking ‘what’s a guy like me doing in a place like this’?” His lips quirked into an awkward grin before he dropped his gaze once more into his near-empty tumbler.

 _Whiskey,_ Hannibal thought as he inhaled subtly, frowning imperceptibly. _Cheap whiskey._

He signalled the bartender with his eyes, an impressive feat considering the swarm of twenty-somethings demanding drinks closer to the dance floor, and ordered two glasses of the club’s most expensive blended scotch. Which, predictably, was not all that expensive.

“You don’t have to-“

“Think nothing of it,” Hannibal insisted loudly as he paid for both drinks and slid one down the bar. “It would be a pleasure to share a well-crafted scotch with someone who might appreciate it.”

_And I’d prefer that, if you are to dilute your blood with poison, you marinate in something more refined and better suited to bring out your rich, exquisite flavour._

The man observed the drink warily, a note of apprehension as his eyes flickered upwards to better take in Hannibal’s appearance. He assessed the pale grey vest and pants, accented in maroon checkers and matching the dark shirt underneath with the sleeves cleanly rolled up, before his gaze darted back up to stare at Hannibal directly. The man’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable except for a trace of conflict flickering beneath the surface.

Unflappable even under such blatant scrutiny, Hannibal flashed the man an even more welcoming smile, and that seemed to answer whatever question the man hadn’t asked aloud. The chill he’d been radiating towards Hannibal instantly thawed.

“Thanks,” he said eventually, taking the tumbler in his hand and holding it aloft in a gesture of appreciation. “Name’s Will. Yours?”

“Hannibal,” he responded, holding his own drink similarly before they each took a sip.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Will commented, indicating Hannibal’s attire with a wry smile. “You’re one to talk about looking out of place.”

He took another sip, not even looking in Hannibal’s direction as he sized him up.

“You’ve got money and power, and showing it off comes as naturally to you as breathing. But you’re not a lawyer or a business type. Negotiation holds zero interest to you. So I’m thinking doctor.”

“Yes, a psychiatrist,” Hannibal confirmed, not hiding his amusement at the impressive display of intuition. He wondered how much more about his interests Will was capable of divining. “I will admit, this is not my ideal choice in venue, but I am curious to know why tonight it is yours.”

“Don’t really have a good answer to that. Change in scenery?” Will shrugged, shaking his head and jutting out a lip. Hannibal had to restrain himself leaning forward to bite it.

But Will’s demeanor made it clear that even though he’d been able to read Hannibal openly, he wasn’t keen on discussing anything personal. Which was disappointing, since Hannibal already found himself intrigued enough to want to draw this encounter out beyond its natural course. But on the other hand, it gave him the opening to skip formalities, the irresistible promise of tasting this delicacy encouraging Hannibal to throw caution and subtlety to the wind.

“Seeking out new experiences can indicate a dissatisfaction in day to day life,” Hannibal remarked, sliding noticeably closer to the man beside him. “Tell me, Will, is there anything I can do to aid in your satisfaction this evening?”

Will coughed in the midst of another sip, trying not to spit out his drink as he chuckled darkly. “Oh god, I’m sorry but please don’t tell me that psychoanalysis come-ons normally work in this crowd.”

“You’d be surprised,” Hannibal replied mildly, unfazed by Will’s dismissiveness. He leaned in conspiratorially, pleased at himself for providing an opportunity to do so.  “Many non-conforming individuals respond to such displays of authority in a range of unexpected ways.”

Will’s derisive expression dropped immediately with Hannibal’s sudden nearness, fighting an instinct to jerk backwards. He swallowed thickly and recovered. “Yeah, well, having been a cop a while, I gotta say I don’t find authority all that sexy.”

Hannibal raised his brows. “A police officer?”

He had not been expecting that. He lowered himself to prowl dives such as these because those who frequented them often lead a lifestyle where extended absences would not immediately raise flags. Someone who worked in law enforcement? They would be missed.

But being so close to Will allowed Hannibal to fully inhale his intoxicating aroma, and he decided instantly that it was more than worth the risk.

“Detective,” Will amended. “Homicide.”

If Hannibal had not been entirely captivated before, he certainly was now. Not simply because Will projected an utter lack of confidence, uncharacteristic of someone in such a vocation, but because he seemed to be announcing it as somewhat of a test. Or possibly a dare.

“Truth be told, I would have never guessed.”

“Too twitchy, I know,” Will scratched his stubble before taking another sip. “If it makes you feel any better, I probably won’t be doing it much longer.”

“Oh?” Hannibal said, thinking _certainly not after tonight._ “Is that so?

Will waved his hand absently. “Can’t afford whatever you’d charge to unravel that tangled web, Doctor.”

“I’d be more than happy to take on your case pro bono.” Hannibal turned inward, slickly but indiscreetly sliding his hand onto Will’s thigh. “Although this may not be the ideal location for such an intimate conversation. My home is not far. We could continue this discussion there.”

Will had frozen the instant Hannibal had placed his hand on him, and was doing his best not to look down where Hannibal was now gently massaging with his thumb. Anyone else attempting to pick Will up would likely take a far less direct approach for fear of scaring this timid creature off. But when Will cracked a smile, biting his lip as he surveyed Hannibal more thoroughly, Hannibal knew his instincts about the man had been dead on.

“Yeah, okay,” Will said, his face suddenly flush in a way that had nothing to do with the club’s suffocating heat. Hannibal tasted a burst of arousal in the air and smirked. Will downed the remainder of his scotch in two thick gulps. “Thanks again for the drink.”

They exchanged relatively few words in the drive back to Hannibal’s home, but the silence had been anything but awkward. Effortlessly able to multitask while driving, Hannibal’s free hand had found its way back onto Will’s thigh as soon as possible. Stroking only suggestively until he was able to cast a quick glance sideways and see Will give him an apprehensive nod, Hannibal found Will’s fly without sight and tugged it down with ease. However, the broken cry Will gave when Hannibal cupped his clothed bulge distracted him so thoroughly he nearly drove into a tree.

“Oh god,” Will moaned, either ignorant or indifferent to how close his fragile little life had come to ending prematurely.

But as Hannibal began stroking Will firmly, pulling beautiful breathless pants and shuddering gasps with every motion, he became astutely aware of how distracted he’d allowed himself to be. It was impossible to resist it, with Will’s debauched reaction to stimulation and the subsequent aroma of his arousal saturating the car’s atmosphere.

Hannibal normally provided this relief to every lost little thing he brought back to his home, making sure they’d be pliant and tender and lacking the bitter taste of fear. But never before had he been so similarly affected. Even with only a few sips of scotch in his system, with Will writhing so shamelessly in the seat next to him, Hannibal felt as if he might be justly charged with driving while intoxicated.

Just as they rounded the corner onto Hannibal’s street, Will came with a muffled sob into his palm, and Hannibal nearly lost it entirely. When Will collapsed against Hannibal’s shoulder, thoroughly wrecked as they pulled up beside the curb in front of his imposing mini-mansion, an urge to tear into the man and satisfy his own immense craving sizzled just beneath Hannibal's skin.

In that moment, Hannibal decided that he needed this over with as quickly as possible, and he felt a small pang of regret seize him. He had hoped he could drag this out longer before snuffing out the gorgeous creature’s life completely. Given Will’s profession, he’d whipped up a few amusing scenarios to discover if the intuitive homicide detective might recognize Hannibal as the radical artist he truly was, anonymously leaving thought-provoking installations around Baltimore without a trace of evidence. But Hannibal was losing his composure in Will’s presence; not the poise he projected, but his actual, inner sense of self-possession, and it was too risky to keep this going any longer.

As Will’s breathing slowed back to normal, Hannibal inhaled into his sweat-soaked curls, allowing himself one last whiff of his heady scent before stepping out of the car, waiting for Will to collect himself and then leading them both up the walkway. He unlocked the front door, swinging it open and stepping aside to allow Will entrance.

Skin flush with the most beautiful shade of deep red, Will shot Hannibal an appreciative, knowing grin. As Will stepped forward, Hannibal moved inconspicuously to put his key away, hand seizing around the switchblade in his pocket, priming himself to slit Will’s throat the second the door was closed behind them both.

At that exact moment, a dull clang echoed out as Will breached the threshold, bouncing back from the open doorway as if he’d slammed into a brick wall. Both he and Hannibal froze at once, Hannibal tilting his head curiously while Will spat out a frustrated “What the hell?”

Will tried walking into the house again and was instantly met with the same resistance. A low growl rumbled in Will’s throat, and he twisted his head back to glare at Hannibal.

“Is this even your house?” he snarled. And Hannibal’s breath was suddenly punched out of his lungs.

The colour of the irises staring back at Hannibal were no longer ocean blue he'd swam in all night, but a deep shade of crimson to match Will’s suddenly bloodshot eyes. Dark veins elevated around the skin of Will’s eyelids, angrily pulsing blood. The most striking change, however, were the two long fangs protruding from where two perfectly aligned canine teeth had been moments before.

The sight was arresting. _Magnificent_ , Hannibal thought during the few seconds he was allowed to think it.

Will seemingly realized what Hannibal was seeing and responded with a strong grip around the larger man's throat. Faster than was humanly possible, Will spun Hannibal around and slammed him into the brick wall beside the doorway. He growled again before ripping back Hannibal’s collar and covering Hannibal's mouth with his free hand. Pulling Hannibal’s head aside, Will sunk his sharp teeth into Hannibal’s exposed neck.

Hannibal let out a reflexive scream that was instantly muffled by Will’s hand. Hannibal tried to struggle against this unexpected threat, but found he was suddenly helpless against Will’s impossible strength. The teeth against his jugular felt less like pinpricks and more like the hackings of a dull, serrated blade, a sensation that intensified as Will began to suck with incredible force, drawing great gouts of Hannibal’s blood into his mouth with the elegance of a ravenous wolf tearing at its prey.

And while Hannibal’s nerves exploded in pain and he felt his body start to go into shock, he couldn’t help appreciate the raw carnality of it all, the rapturous feeling of this ethereal being draining the life out of him. He imagined stepping outside of the moment, no longer a victim but an observer, and watching this creature feast on another.

The very image of it made Hannibal groan and involuntarily grow hard, not an easy task on a rapidly depleting blood supply. Will, who was pressed up against him, stopped the instant he felt it, pulling off Hannibal’s neck to give him a bewildered look beneath those blood-shot eyes.

Throbbing in pain, confused and aroused, Hannibal thankfully still had the wherewithal to pull his hand out of his pocket, flicking open the switchblade and slicing Will cleanly across the throat.

Will leapt backwards, clawing at his open neck, coughing and sputtering, giving Hannibal the chance to slide sideways along the brick and fall backwards into his front hallway. Even as he hit the ground, Hannibal's quick mind was already plotting out how to drag Will’s bleeding carcass into his home, while he himself bled profusely, without arousing suspicion of the neighbours.

Before Hannibal had a chance to work out the details, however, Will was back in the doorway, pounding heavily against the thin air that separated them. Having his throat slit from ear to ear had not slowed him down one bit. The light refracted around his hands with each bash of his fists, but whatever was keeping Will out did not seem to be cracking, even under his considerable strength.

“Fuck!” Will roared, kicking the invisible barrier one last time for good measure.

Looking up from the floor of his front hall, Hannibal clutched at his jagged puncture wounds, trying to hold off the bleeding while he took in the image of Will before him, in all his furious glory. Hair and clothing dishevelled. Glasses crunched and shed aside, no longer obstructing veined, crimson eyes. Mouth, neck, hands and shirt all smeared in thick, dripping droplets of blood. Will radiated a predatory majesty that Hannibal had only ever dreamed of manifesting in himself.

“You’re _beautiful_ ,” Hannibal choked out, feeling darkness creep out along the edge of his vision but needing Will to know this, even if it was the last thing he ever said.

Will’s brows furrowed as he gazed down at Hannibal, distracted from his frantic rage long enough to be confused by Hannibal’s praise.

Hannibal took a long, deep breath, blinking slowly before managing a few last words. “I have to know; what are you?”

Will narrowed his eyes, clearly taking something under deep consideration. As Hannibal consciousness slowly slipped away, he found it almost impossible to keep his eyes open long enough to stare. After a moment, he felt a dull thud against his chest and he pawed at whatever caused it.

“You wanna live long enough to find out?” Will hissed. “Lick that clean.”

Hannibal slowly realized that Will had tossed him back his switchblade. He hadn’t even remembered dropping it. He brought the blade to his nose, sniffing. It was covered in both their blood.

Having nothing to lose, Hannibal did as he was told, running his tongue along one flat side of the blade, then the other, before swallowing everything. He felt a small tingle as the blood trickled down his throat, sweet unconsciousness creeping up on him.

“When you wake up, clean everything and don’t tell anyone about tonight.” Will instructed, his tone severe. “I’ll be back to make sure.”

With the last ounce of strength Hannibal could muster before he passed out, he forced his eyes open. He took in the heavenly sight of Will, still dripping blood, but fangs gone and eyes back to their piercing blue. He smiled, blinking slowly with a deep inhale, but by the time he could refocus his vision, Will was nowhere to be seen.

And then Hannibal’s world quietly faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2

A week went by and nothing happened.

Will had promised he’d be back, but over a weekend of Hannibal firmly planted in his home, the man had not returned. Hannibal prided himself on his patience, but even he could not handle awaiting the fallout from their first encounter. Or anticipating their next one. He made sure his schedule was entirely full, kept up appearances, and quashed any flutter of concern that dared to make itself known.

Worry was an entirely foreign concept to Hannibal, and he intended to keep it that way.

However, long after sundown on the following Friday, exiting his office with his coat in hand and his fingers hovering over the handle, Hannibal had stopped dead in his tracks. 

An unmistakable aroma was wafting through the door that led to his waiting room.

Despite years of rigorous mental discipline, aimed to hone the body’s natural fight-or-flight response into a quiet agility he could redirect as he saw fit, Hannibal registered a slight tendril of panic slither up his spine as he considered the other exit. First feeling a small note of contempt for the unfamiliar sensation of instinctual fear, he then allowed himself the momentary lapse; after all, he had nearly died when he’d last inhaled that scent.

 _That scent_. Hannibal had closed his eyes and taken a steady breath, letting it fill his lungs. _Like honey, but not as sweet._

He smiled, naming the flavour he tasted on the air.

_Ambrosia._

He stitched his expression back to one of complete composure and his hand had sealed around the knob, opening the door with confidence and control. As expected, he was greeted on the other side by tamed brown curls and bright blue eyes shielded behind a brand new pair of glasses.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal stopped behind the threshold from his office into the waiting room, his lips curling into a bright, self-satisfied grin.

“Hello, Detective Graham.”

Will remained expressionless as he rose from the chair. “You’ve done your homework.”

Hannibal made a small gesture to where they both were. “Clearly, so have you.”

“It took me all of ten seconds to pull your work address.” Will lifted his brows. “Guess there’s no point crafting a lie for those you lure back to your home. The truth is bait enough. It’s not as if they ever get a chance to warn the other fish about the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Although his face did not show it, when the words struck Hannibal, his blood ran cold.

_How could he possibly know?_

Yes, he had sliced Will’s throat, but it was quite a leap from justifiable self-defence to accusations of serial murder. As accurate as they might be.

Of course, his first instinct was to deny everything, to laugh it off, but he fought to push it aside. He knew how to speak freely without explicitly admitting to anything. Besides, Hannibal sought a greater truth, and he could not buy that from Will with lies.

“With one rather notable exception,” Hannibal finally added, darkly. “Tell me, Will, have you seized on that opportunity?”

Will remained quiet, but his silence spoke for him.

“I thought not,” Hannibal said, a tiny weight released off his chest as he gave a sympathetic nod. “I imagine I would be in handcuffs now if you had.”

He tilted his head, sizing Will up, even though he now knew he could not reasonably take him in a fight.

“Are you waiting on an invitation?”

Will stepped slowly forward, placing both arms behind his back. Now only a few feet from Hannibal, he broke their deadlocked gaze to casually glance around the wooden doorframe, pointedly taking his time.

Inhaling softly, he didn’t look back to Hannibal before responding, “No.”

And with that, he breeched the threshold and walked straight past Hannibal, into his large, open office. Hannibal paused a moment, considering, before closing the door behind them both. Normally he would be offended by such blatant disregard for courtesy, but nothing about this exchange was normal.

“Office hours are over this evening, but for you, I suppose I can make another exception,” Hannibal mused, striding towards his desk and folding his coat overtop of it. “You did save my life, after all.”

Will paced carefully, casually scanning the many corners of Hannibal’s beautiful office, as if trying to make sense of something.

“Is that what I did?” Will asked absently.

Hannibal pursed his lips. “Although it was entirely to your benefit to not leave behind a crime scene riddled with your DNA, it does not change the fact that your actions saved my life.”

A small chuckle emanated from Will’s throat. “You seem rather confident that a spur of the moment decision like that is permanent and irreversible.”

Hannibal folded his arms as he leaned against his desk. “I suppose I derive my confidence from safeguards I have in place.”

Will looked at him curiously. “Such as?”

Hannibal spoke nonchalantly. “I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say, if I am unable to access my phone every eight hours for the foreseeable future, rather damning evidence that links you directly to Ripper victims, including myself, will quickly surface.”

The amusement was wiped from Will’s face entirely. He stepped forward, cautious, studying, as if he could decipher whether Hannibal was lying from merely a glance. Hannibal felt the gaze pierce through his skull and he got the distinct impression that Will actually did have this ability.

No matter; Hannibal wasn’t bluffing.

“Well, the one thing you can’t be accused of is being wasteful of your second chance at life.” Will took off his glasses, folding them carefully in his hand before tucking them into his pocket. “Are you still…”

Hannibal cocked a curious brow. “Human?”

Will turned slowly on the spot, eying Hannibal carefully. “For want of a better word.”

Hannibal gave a small laugh before he strode towards his therapy chair, completely unbothered that doing so brought him closer to Will, who was radiating disdain. He leaned against the arm of the chair, crossing his legs and folding his arms.

He tilted his head, indicating that he wanted Will to take the seat opposite him. But Will’s pointed inaction did not stop Hannibal from recounting his story.

“When I woke up, something I had reasonably expected to not do, the puncture wounds on my neck had vanished completely.” Hannibal watched Will’s expression astutely, but it betrayed nothing at those words, so he pressed on without further interruption. “I was not suffering from any blood loss, despite finding myself laying in a pool of my own blood. Still unconvinced I had not imagined our encounter, I grabbed the knife at my side and nicked my arm, watching with disbelief as the open gash instantly stitched itself back together. It was miraculous. I did it again and again and again, the cuts becoming deeper and wider each time.”

A shadow of dread passed over Will’s face, and he swallowed thickly.

“Until hours later,” Hannibal continued, “after I had cleaned and ate and slept, when I ran my blade over the same spot I had countless times the night before. It healed itself, but only after several moments of my bleeding rather profusely. I tried again around noon, and it took half an hour for the wound to close.”

Hannibal undid the cuffs on his suit jacket and sleeve, rolling them both up his left arm. Will watched the motion with rapt attention.

“Finally, that evening, I carelessly made a cut that refused to heal without aid.” He held his forearm out, a long line of stitches marred otherwise unmarked flesh, the raised skin on its way to becoming a sizeable scar. “It was my good fortune that I used to be a surgeon.”

Will let out a microscopic sigh of relief. “So you’re not-“

“A vampire?” Hannibal interjected. “No, I don’t believe I am.”

Will’s expression tightened, but there was a glint of anticipation in his eye. “What do you know about vampires?”

There was no derisiveness in the question. Will seemed genuinely keen on finding out what Hannibal knew.

“Up until a week ago, all I knew of vampires had been derived from folklore and a brief dalliance with popular fiction.” Hannibal shrugged, not bothering to name specifics. “Not much has changed, in truth, other than my certainty that _you_ are one.”

Hannibal pushed himself out of the chair, but instead of rolling down his sleeve, he reached inside his coat. Hannibal was a traditionalist in many ways, including sharpening the pencils he used for sketching with a blade. One had been laying on his desk until moments before, when he had pocketed it.

Will caught the motion but seemed unthreatened, merely rolling his eyes. “Do you go anywhere without concealing a weapon?”

Hannibal ignored the jibe, raising the blade to the indented line along his scar. “Considering how I nearly died, I am also fairly confident that the mythology surrounding vampires craving blood is based in truth.”

He skilfully sliced along the stitches, just below the skin. Not so deep as to hit an artery or a vein, but enough to draw blood.

Will’s gaze snapped back to his arm instantly. Hannibal watched with fascination as blood pulsed to Will’s eyes, dark veins appearing as bright blue once again bled into deep red. Fangs protruded and Will snarled; a deep, primal sound which sent a pleasant chill through Hannibal’s entire being.

After a few heavy, angry breaths, Will blurred out of Hannibal’s vision, leaving a gust of wind in his wake. Before Hannibal could even register that Will was no longer standing in front of him, he heard him hiss from the second floor balcony above him.

“Are you fucking insane?!”

Will crouched against the bookshelf, arms wrapped around his knees as if to restrain himself. He shot down Hannibal a furious look from behind the railing before averting his eyes, staring pointedly at the ceiling, clearly trying to force his beautiful visage back beneath his skin.

“A case could be made,” Hannibal answered as he took a few steps forward, holding out his bleeding arm. “Of course, I would easily refute it.”

“Then why the hell would you do that?” Will's voice was low and raspy, but the question sounded almost like a plea.

“I was curious what would happen,” Hannibal answered simply.

“Well I hope your curiosity is satisfied in about five seconds, when I tear your goddamn throat out,” Will growled. “ _Again_.”

Hannibal took a moment to observe Will. “A threat you don’t seem particularly keen to carry out.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a warning!” Will’s tone bordered on shrill. He twisted away, panting into the spines of several of Hannibal’s rare medical textbooks. “Please, stop the bleeding, the smell of it, I can’t-“

Hannibal furrowed his brows. Granted, he knew nothing concrete about vampire behaviour, but these were not the actions of anyone comfortable in their own skin.

"How long have you been a vampire, Will?" Hannibal asked tentatively. After several moments of no audible response, he tried a different tactic. "Is your craving for human sustenance something you are still struggling with?”

Will wracked his head against the bookcase. “ _You have no idea._ ”

Hannibal grinned at that.

“I may have an inkling.”

After a moment of writhing on the spot, trying to restrain himself, Will let out a small whimper.

“The surgical trophies.” He let out a hollow laugh, darkened by his breakdown. “Christ, you’re _eating_ them.”

Again, Hannibal was astonished by Will’s intuition, even if this time he had purposefully led him to the conclusion.

“We could strike a bargain, you and I,” Hannibal offered, hopeful as a plan unravelled, fully formed, in his head. “I am in a unique position to help you.”

“Yeah, how’s that?” Will spat.

“A lifetime of experience.” Hannibal lowered his arm, but did not cover it with his sleeve. “I can teach you how to satisfy your craving in a manner that allows you to still function as a member of society.”

Will growled again. “I catch killers for a living. You think I want to _become_ one?”

Hannibal paced slowly over to the ladder at the far right, doing his best to keep his eyes on the tight ball of nerves above him.

“Have you not already?” Hannibal asked as he climbed. “I assume mine is not the first blood on your hands.”

When Hannibal reached the second floor, he found Will shaking his head, pawing distractedly at Hannibal’s books.

He sighed. “It pains me to see a kindred soul suffer so.”

“Stop talking about us like we're the same,” Will hissed. “ _You_ don’t do what you do for survival.”

Hannibal looked out over his empty office. He thought of the tedium it could be most days, and what he might do if he did not have his hobbies as an outlet.

“I do. In a way.” He looked back to Will, who was casting him a disparaging glance through a shudder. “Have you fed since you last fed on me? You are quite obviously starving. Are you able to drink blood without draining the donor dry?”

Will chuckled at that, even as he sucked air through his teeth. “Yes. I just wasn’t all that worried about it when it came to you.”

Hannibal nodded, unperturbed by Will’s barb. He held out his arm again.

“Then please, help yourself.” 

Hannibal watched as Will’s eyes flickered down to the open wound, his already fragile resistance starting to crumble.

“It’s the least I can offer you in return for your silence.” Arm still outstretched, Hannibal lowered himself invitingly to one knee. “The laws and punishments of man are unfortunately still an issue for _me_.”

Will groaned, but he placed one hand on the floor, leaning tentatively forward.

“Bribing a cop with your own blood? That's new.”

“Consider it more a test in control,” Hannibal reasoned, immobile as he watched Will slowly close the gap between them on his hands and knees. It was overwhelmingly thrilling, witnessing such a magnificently powerful creature behaving so beautifully submissive to him. “You know the consequences if I do not leave this exchange alive. I trust you to find a way to stop yourself before that happens.”

As Will’s hand sealed around his wrist, Hannibal felt a pleasant jolt of excitement run up his arm and down along his spine. Closing his eyes, Will brought the wrist to his mouth, tentatively nuzzling at Hannibal’s pulse before slowly moving upwards along the tender flesh until he hit red. Hannibal's arm was jerked forward as the grip on it tightened. Will traced his shy tongue along the thick trail of blood, growing more and more confident until he reached it’s source along the shallow cut.

Will opened his bloodshot eyes, his demonic features knitted into a quiet resentment directed at Hannibal, even as he lapped eagerly at the wound. He sealed his blood stained lips around the open cut, teeth pressing into Hannibal’s forearm but taking special care not to puncture the skin. Finally, locking his eyes with Hannibal’s, Will unabashedly began to suck.

Combined with the fresh burst of honeyed arousal he could taste on the air, it was the single most erotic sensation Hannibal had ever experienced.

Will groaned as Hannibal’s life-force passed over his lips, every noise of hunger and desperation and relief a melody to Hannibal’s ears that shot straight to his groin. Within moments, Will was lost to the pleasure of feeding, his eyes fluttering closed again, and Hannibal carefully drew his arm closer to him, bringing Will along with the motion.

When he was reasonably positive he could get away with it, Hannibal brought his free hand to the back of Will’s neck, and when Will did not break his suction to buck it off, Hannibal trailed upwards, tangling his fingers into soft brown curls. He stroked the back of Will’s head encouragingly, reverently, pulling them both into an odd but intimate embrace.

For a moment, Will’s suction deepened and Hannibal started to feel the effects of the blood-loss creep along the edge of his awareness. But with a subtle circling of his fingers at the base of Will’s skull, Hannibal was able to coax Will off him long before he thought he might pass out.

Will’s vampiric features retracted, but the look of deep contentment remained. Slowly coming back to himself, Will pulled out of Hannibal’s grasp when he finally noticed that Hannibal’s bulge from their previous encounter had returned with a vengeance.

He flung himself back against the bookshelf, wiping his red lips with the sleeve of his jacket.

“You’re one sick fuck, you know that?”

Hannibal chucked, completely unashamed as he leaned against the bookshelf as well, trying to speak coherently without chasing away his endorphin-fuelled high.

“How long will that last you?”

Will ran his hand along his face, checking for any abnormal features and seemingly pleased at finding none. “Couple days, maybe three.”

Hannibal nodded. “Come back on Monday. Same time. I’d be happy to provide you with more.”

“Why would I do that instead of just booking you now?” Will panted, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I can deal with the fallout.”

“Because you’re piecing together how useful I can be.” Hannibal articulated, counting off on his fingers. “A willing source of sustenance you can nourish yourself with, without guilt. A non-judgemental ear to confess your darkest desires to. And an experienced hand to guide you through the best and the worst of everything you’ve become.”

Will gave Hannibal one final glance before rising to his feet. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and placed them on his nose, thumb pushing them up along the bridge until they were seated properly, the final seam in Will's person-suit restitched.

Dull teeth bit at his bottom lip as he looked out onto the main floor. Eventually, Will nodded.

“Monday.”

With that, burst of air swept over Hannibal, blowing loose several papers from the bookshelf above him. In the few seconds it took for them to fall and settle, Will had vanished once again.


	3. Chapter 3

Will parked around the corner. Far around the corner. He shut the engine off, but made no move to get out of the car.

 _Don’t go in._ _Leave._

His breath became quicker, shallower, just on the edge of panic. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, rubbing his hands back and forth on the smooth plastic hard enough to burn.

 _I almost burnt today._ _I need this._

He clenched his eyes shut and screwed up his mouth, breathing deeply through his nose to force himself to calm down. He’d fucked up last time, losing his cool the instant the psycho had drawn blood.

No. That wasn’t true. He’d lost his cool long before that.

If Will was being honest with himself, he’d been hanging on by a thread when he’d strolled into Dr. Lecter’s office three days earlier. Starving from a week without feeding, terrified about being exposed as a vampire and racked with guilt over the possibility he had turned a monster into an immortal bloodsucker, Will had been downright reckless, thinking he could simply kill Hannibal or intimidate him into silence. Then Hannibal had mentioned the frame-job he had set up as a failsafe and Will could see he wasn’t _lying._  Hannibal had managed to get the upper-hand while Will was breaking down, and realizing that, Will had lost his last shred of composure.

Will could snap Hannibal’s neck without breaking a sweat, and yet Hannibal had him cowering on the floor with no more than words and a few drops of blood.

Will swallowed thickly.

_Christ, his blood. His fucking blood._

He was already salivating at the thought of drinking more of it. A young couple passed by on the sidewalk, out for a quiet stroll on an otherwise empty street, and Will didn’t even pay their thunderous heartbeats a single thought because he was so entirely wrapped up in the promise of more blood from Hannibal.

He could feel the shadow of his vampiric features clawing their way to the surface. Focusing all his might, he fought to keep them suppressed, eventually glancing in the rear-view mirror to make sure. He pushed up the skin along his brow and around his mouth; blue eyes, dull teeth. Good, he’d been able to keep the demon at bay.

Twitching alone in the car, Will still wasn’t nearly as far gone as he’d been the last time he’d seen Hannibal, which he now recognized as being crucial going forward. If he was ever going to figure out how to dismantle Hannibal’s failsafe, he would have to keep his wits about him.  And for that, he’d need to feed.

He sighed and gathered himself out of the driver’s seat, closing the door and locking it quietly. Within the span of a second, he was around the corner and at the entrance to Hannibal’s office, glancing around for any onlookers before opening the door and stepping inside.

In the waiting room, the office door swung open before he had the chance to knock.

“Good evening, Will.”

Hannibal shone a bright smile as their eyes connected. Clearly, he’d been waiting eagerly and had no qualms about showing it.

Will only nodded as he stepped inside.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he shuffled into the room, quietly happy to hear his voice sounding even.

“We did not set a formal appointment, so you needn’t worry.” Hannibal closed the door and strode over to his desk. He picked up a clipboard and a pen before gliding towards Will, completely indifferent to the concept of personal boundaries. “However, going forward, I think it best to stick to a set time. For both our sakes. Establishing and following a routine can be one of the most effective ways to endure life-changing transitions.”

Will tried not to shrink away as Hannibal saddled up beside him. But his brows furrowed when Hannibal handed him the clipboard.

“The hell is this?” He snorted. “Lot of paperwork for something as simple as opening a vein.”

“It’s a standard patient intake form.” Hannibal handed Will the pen. “As well as a disclosure statement that details your rights and responsibility as a patient; most importantly, your right to confidentiality.”

Will shot him a confounded look. “Are you kidding?”

Hannibal was bemused, as if Will’s confusion was the perplexing aspect of this exchange.

“This is to your benefit,” Hannibal stated simply. “As a detective, you, more than most, should know the value of credibility and having your paperwork in order. This will protect you, as I would not be able to share the content of any of our discussions without risking my own career. My career is my cover, much as your career will be yours.”

Will tilted his head knowingly. “Pretty sure our situation is outside the legal realm of doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Hannibal quirked an eyebrow. “Technically, I am obligated to report any intent of murder to the authorities, but given the sensitive nature of our arrangement, I will consider _you_ the authority, as to side-step that particular clause.”

Will considered a moment. Being linked to Hannibal in any way was undesirable at best. But simply being a patient of a homicidal maniac was not in itself damning if Hannibal himself were ever caught. And Will could tell Hannibal was being genuine about not wanting to risk his cover, and this would hold him accountable for that.

Clearly, it was meant to be an overture of trust.

Still, it bound them even tighter in something Will’s rational side screamed at him to wriggle free from. As Will sighed, scanning both documents before signing, he felt a gnawing irritation at how literal this deal with the devil had become.

“Didn’t see anything in the Patient’s Rights and Responsibility section about being framed for murder.” Will clicked the pen closed before handing it back with the clipboard.  “You know, should the patient prove _uncooperative_.”

Hannibal smiled as he strode to place the items back on his desk. “No, that particular clause will have to remain implied between us. But do not dwell on that. We have much more pertinent matters to discuss. Please, have a seat.”

Will glanced sideways at the therapy chair, irritated. “You’re serious about treating this like therapy?”

“Of course,” Hannibal said as he walked back and took a seat in the chair closest to the waiting room. “Unless you would like to pick up where we left off in the drive back to my home.”

His eyes shamelessly scanned Will’s entire form, and Will was instantly transported back to the passenger seat of Hannibal’s car, on the edge of bliss with the skilled doctor’s hand expertly stroking his cock. Will hoped the tremble he felt at the memory was not visible.

“I don’t imagine the conversation would be nearly as illuminating,” Hannibal continued, eyes flicking back up to catch Will’s gaze. “But given the unusual circumstance, I’d be willing to give it a try.”

Will bit his lip, outright ignoring the intonation.

“I thought…you offered…”

“More of my blood. And I shall be happy to donate.” Hannibal crossed one leg over the other, placing his folded hands on this calf. “But you are in as desperate a need of _guidance_ , Will, and that can only be achieved through discussion. It won’t do to have you running off again the second you’ve had your fill.”

“I won’t.” Will let out a heavy sigh, fidgeting to remove his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I promise. I just…need…listen, this craving…I can’t think clearly when I’ve gone this long without feeding. I won’t even hear your questions over the throbbing of your pulse.”

Hannibal’s breath visibly shortened at those last few words, and Will had to turn away to hide a frustrated blush. Of course the cannibal would find _that_ exciting. He’d probably felt a similar sensation every time he picked out victims to dine on.

“A compromise, then,” Hannibal said softly. “Quid pro quo. Answer a few of my questions honestly, and I will allow you a small amount of my blood. You’ve already demonstrated control while you feed, and this exercise will help to strengthen it. Answer more, and you shall earn more, and so it will go. Blood for truth. I think it’s a fair trade.”

Will stared him down. “Or I could just take what I need from you and leave.”

“You could.” Hannibal gave a contemplative nod. “But if you were that short-sighted, you would have drained me completely when I opened the door.”

Will huffed, but tucked his glasses in his pocket. He removed his coat and draped over the back of the chair, finally taking a seat.

He rubbed his hands nervously along his lower thighs before resting them overtop his knees. “Ask away.”

Hannibal smiled. “When and how did you become a vampire, Will?”

“Right out of the gate, huh?” Will laughed darkly and sucked through his teeth. “No ‘where did you grow up’ or 'were you bullied in school' or ‘any awkward dreams about mom’?”

Hannibal gave a slight grin. “Details of your childhood are something we will unearth eventually, I’m certain. For now, the most fertile grounds for resolving your current dilemma surround the events of your rebirth.”

“Fair enough.” Will scratched his head as he did the math. “Uh, I’ve been this way for about three months.”

“Three months?” Hannibal almost sounded surprised. “Not long then.”

Will suppressed a derisive noise. “It’s been an eternity. I can’t even remember what it’s like to not feel hungry.”

Hannibal blinked. He wasn’t smiling, but he was clearly intrigued.

“And _how_ did you come to be this way?" he reiterated.

Will turned his head away, pressing his lips together. “I don’t know.”

“Will, I thought we’d agreed to be honest with each other.”

“I am being honest.” Will’s eyes absently searched the large office. “I _don’t_ know. I woke up like this.”

“Certainly there’s more to the story than that.” Hannibal offered. “I would think the origin of a craving as deep as you’ve described would be rather notable.”

Will gripped the armrest to steady himself. Memories of that night always sent his own heartrate skyrocketing. And he really did not wish to share them, especially with Hannibal.

Something Hannibal was quickly picking up on. “May I voice an observation?”

Will let his silence speak as resigned consent.

“When you visited me last, you seemed rather worried that I had become like you,” Hannibal tilted his head. “Today, you have not expressed a similar concern.”

Will gulped and looked at Hannibal warily. He could say that he would sense if Hannibal had become a vampire, but that lie would be dismantled fairly quickly. Will didn’t know if vampires could detect each other because he had no idea if he’d encountered another vampire since he’d become one.

“There were noticeable differences between the first and second times you drank from me, besides how much you drank,” Hannibal continued. “For example, during the second, you were very careful that your elongated canine teeth did not puncture my skin.”

“You’d already opened the wound. There wasn’t any point,” Will answered truthfully.

“But in the three months since you’ve been turned, you must have drank from others.”

Will’s chest tightened. “Yes.”

“Have you been using your teeth to draw blood then?”

Will’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Hannibal could see how upsetting Will found this, which only made him thirstier to know more.

“Describe how you normally stalk and feed on your prey for me, please.”

“You first,” Will spat. After all, he wasn’t the only one in the room worthy of the third degree.

“You already know how,” Hannibal replied nonchalantly. “Our first encounter was rather typical, outside of how it ended. I will be happy to share with you further at another time, but right now, we are talking about you.”

Will closed his eyes and knitted his brows, dropping his head solemnly.

“I go to clubs,” Will breathed heavily. “The kind of places where the music’s too loud and no one can see anything. Where people are too horny and high out of their minds to give a shit. People, _kids_ really, who aren’t even going to feel pain when I bite them, let alone remember my face the next day. Easily discredited victims.”

He scrunched up his face in disgust.

“I’ve become a fucking predator,” Will confessed, voice dripping with self-loathing. “I’m supposed to _catch_ assholes like me. Like _us_.”

“You’re doing what you must to survive,” Hannibal countered, less to console and more a statement of fact. He tilted his head. “How do you ensnare your prey?”

Will shrugged. “I just approach them. Talk, flirt a bit; not really my forte, but it doesn’t matter in those kinds of clubs. Dance with them, sometimes. Whatever it takes to lead them away, into a dark corner or the bathroom or outside.”

“And then?”

“I bite them. I try to be gentle, soothe them, keep them calm and quiet." Will's voice wavered. "It doesn’t always work. They resist sometimes and I…I’m stronger, and I _need_ blood and once I’ve tasted it...I try take what I need without hurting them, I really do, but-“

“Have you killed anyone, Will?”

Will glared daggers across the room.

“Have you?” he hissed.

“Yes.” Hannibal answered freely, demonstrating a lack of interest in trapping Will. “Many more than I believe you have managed thus far. But I would still like to know how many that is.”

Will nodded absently, and in doing so, realized he was holding back tears. 

“Four.” His breath hitched. “They kept struggling and I was _starving_. I couldn’t stop.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Will was trembling. “Like a monster.”

“During or after?”

Letting out a shaky breath, Will caught Hannibal’s gaze, trying to blink away the tears. “After.”

Hannibal pressed his tongue between his teeth, visually biting back excitement.

“And during?”

Will brought his hands together, fidgeting nervously as he rubbed them together over and over. Finally, he brought them between his knees to still himself.

“Fulfilled,” he admitted. “Satisfied.”

“Is it just the nourishment that provides the satisfaction?”

Will meekly shook his head. “No. It’s everything. It’s possessing them. It’s consuming them. It’s the violence that I use to dominate them. Before I snap back to myself and see the horror of what I’ve done...I feel more _alive_ than I ever did when I was human.”

As the words tumbled out past his lips, Will realized just how visibly he was shaking. _So much for keeping it together._

Wiping away the few tears that had escaped, he panted heavily, feeling a strange weight suddenly lift off his chest.  He’d been carrying around this confession for months, perched on the tip of his tongue every moment of every day. The only thing holding him back was knowing the monsters he wouldn't catch, the lives he couldn’t save, if he was taken out of the game completely.

Maybe Hannibal had been right; he needed someone to talk to without fear of judgement.

As Will collected himself, he shot a dark look at Hannibal. “I’m guessing you can relate to some of that, at least.”

Now it was Hannibal’s turn to swallow thickly. “I can indeed.”

At that point, Hannibal rose to stand. Shucking off his jacket and placing it delicately on the chair behind him, he undid his left cuff and began rolling it up his arm.

“You’ve done well so far,” Hannibal acknowledged as he closed the distance between them. Will felt himself curling inwards at the sight of the angry red scar, suddenly in his face as Hannibal held out his arm. “As per our agreement. Of course, you will need to stop when I tell you to do so.”

Will stayed withdrawn. “Aren’t you going to nick yourself first? Surgical expertise and all that?”

Hannibal stared down at him questioningly. “From what you’ve told me, you normally bite your victims.”

Will cringed at the word ‘victims,’ knowing he’d used it himself but loathing that it could be used against him. Eventually, he gave a small nod.

“Then please,” Hannibal held his arm out a little more. “Treat me as you would any of them. If restraint is to be learned, we must recreate the conditions as accurately as possible.”

Will could already feel the heat rising to his face, his vision blurring around the edges as his eyes hyper focused on blue vessels trailing just underneath tanned skin. He began salivating, pangs of hunger hitting him harder than the sharp pressure of his fangs elongating. All he could hear was the whirring rushes and pumping of blood, both Hannibal’s and his own, the accented voice still speaking to him became a dull echo in the distance.

“Did you think to take anything ahead of time, Doctor?” Will asked, reaching his suddenly steady hands to wrap around Hannibal’s wrist and elbow, sitting up and bringing the fleshy forearm properly in front of him, a feast waiting to be dined upon. “Because this is going to _hurt._ ”

But Will felt a rush of relief when he remembered that, with Hannibal, he was more than free to not give a shit.

Will sank his teeth down into the plump skin, a satisfying crunch as his fangs punctured through, almost like biting into an apple. Both he and Hannibal moaned simultaneously as he struck sweetness, his grip tightening as blood burst forth through the wounds into his waiting mouth. He retracted his bite enough to let the blood run freely, sealing his mouth around the two little holes he made, finally sucking _hard_.

Will felt euphoric as the delicious nectar ran over his tongue, swallowing gulps of it down eagerly, every nerve in his body alive and overloaded with satisfaction. More importantly, he felt a deep, unyielding sense of calm.

He managed to open his eyes, to glance up to Hannibal, who was lost in his own world of total bliss. Will knew, not just because he could see it, because he could taste it, could feel it permeate every fibre of his being as the killer’s blood filled him. _This_ was why he needed Hannibal, why he hadn’t killed him yet, and why he dreaded the necessity of doing so in the future.

Will had suffered from an empathic disorder for as long as he could remember, taking on the moods and personalities of everyone around him. Until he’d learned to have no one around him; at least, as much as he could manage, given that he'd found his calling in law enforcement. He couldn’t deny how useful it had been in solving cases, and he’d always reasoned that saving lives was worth the small price of slowly chipping away his sanity every time he empathized with a killer.

But as loose a grasp as Will had on his empathy before, he’d lost it completely when he’d become a vampire. He didn’t just ‘interpret the evidence’ anymore. God, that had been nothing. Now when he touched someone, he _felt_ what they were feeling, as they were feeling it. As if he were experiencing everything through their eyes, skin and nerves. And when he drank from them, the effect was magnified tenfold and lingered within him long after he had his fill.

Every time Will consumed blood, he was condemning himself to taking on their emotions, sometimes their personalities, for _days_. Since most of Will’s targets had been confused and frightened kids, he’d been enduring _hell_ every time he’d chosen to give into his craving, wanting to live so he could stop worse monsters than what he'd become.  

Which was why Hannibal’s blood was such a welcome, wondrous relief. Now, Will could feed without guilt, without disorientation, without fear. With Hannibal’s blood in his system, Will could finally think with clarity and purpose. He could allow himself to enjoy the taste of sustaining himself, and revel in the animalistic urges that doing so brought forth _without_ losing himself to them entirely. Drinking from Hannibal was like breathing fresh air for the first time in years.

Will didn’t know how long he’d been at it when he felt a soft pressure at the base of his neck. Had he been drinking from anyone else, it would’ve taken all his energy to pull his mouth free. But with the new surge of control emanating through him, stopping himself from feeding was relatively effortless.

“You let me drink way more than I thought you would,” Will noted, forcing his vampiric features to retreat and licking his lips clean. “What happened to ‘restraint?’”

Hannibal was breathing heavily. “It would seem that you are not the only one who needs to work on that.”

Will quirked his eyes downward, greeting the anticipated bulge at his eye-level with little more than indifference. It would be hypocritical of him to recoil this time, given the fading erection tucked discretely between his own legs.

Will had always felt arousal when he fed. He couldn’t help it, as much as he wanted to, but the traumatic emotions flying around usually kept his excitement at bay. This was the first time that he’d allowed it to manifest physically, and for once, he couldn’t be bothered to work up a healthy dose of disgust.

But he felt free, at least, to keep his hands to himself. He sunk back into the chair.

Hannibal finally opened his eyes and glanced down at him.  “Not attempting a hasty exit this time?”

Will lifted both brows, eyes wide and feigning nonchalance. “I’m not full, and my hour isn’t up yet.”

Hannibal grinned then. “Then would you please do me the courtesy of offering a few drops of your blood?”

Will’s calm demeanour faltered, his expression shifting back to wary.

Hannibal lowered himself to one knee, resting his injured arm on the chair to hold himself upright.

“Will, do not think I have neglected to notice the questions you have dodged. You don’t yet wish to share the details of how you were turned because you fear I will use that knowledge to become like you." Hannibal's tone was more sympathetic than accusatory. "However, I have already deciphered that your blood is part of that equation, so there is no use from hiding that element from me any longer.”

Will pursed his lips, drawing on all the composure he’d just absorbed to try and keep his reaction mild.

“So you think I’m willing to make it any easier for you?”

Hannibal looked at him imploringly. “Make it easier on _yourself_. I cannot reasonably sustain you for long without replenishment, and your blood heals. Think of how many days of nourishment I could yield for you, in exchange for just a few drops.”

Will reached out tentatively, brushing his fingers along Hannibal’s arm, using his heightened empathy to search for signs of manipulation. Of course, he found plenty, but was tangled in amongst joy, arousal, curiosity, fatigue, reverence and numerous other emotions, none of which included malice.  Hannibal’s intent was for Will’s urges to be unleashed so he could bask in their glory. The last thing Hannibal wished to do at this moment was to alienate Will through deception.

“Fine,” Will conceded, running his finger along a still-bleeding puncture wound and bringing the blood he collected to his lips. His fangs jutted out again as he licked his finger clean, and he pricked the pad of his fingertip, deep enough to draw his own blood before the wound quickly sealed. He held the few droplets out to Hannibal. “Let’s see if this is enough?”

Looking as if he was about to take holy communion, Hannibal leaned forward and took Will’s finger into his mouth, sighing deeply as he lapped at the tiny volume of blood. Will groaned at the sight; with Hannibal’s blood coursing in his veins and those lips wrapped around him, consuming him in kind, the moment held a quiet eroticism for Will, one he wished desperately he could deny.

After a moment, they both looked down to Hannibal’s arm. They watched with fascination as the small holes in Hannibal’s skin slowly stitched themselves back together.

“I didn’t know that little would work so quickly,” Will said honestly.

Hannibal seemed equally surprised. “My strength is rapidly returning, as if you hadn’t drank from me at all.”

Will felt a jolt of excitement surge through him at this new discovery. He tugged gently at Hannibal’s arm. “May I?”

Hannibal steadied himself at Will’s side and held his arm back out in front of him. “Please.”

Will sank his teeth in again, in a new spot, closer to the wrist. Hannibal hissed in both pain and pleasure as Will sucked in the new burst of blood that filled his mouth, reveling in the sensation of having the soothing liquid trickling down his throat so soon after the last time. He tried to keep his head above the calming haze, his hunger not nearly as overpowering when he was not feeding on an empty stomach. To his surprise, throughout his second feeding, Will remained aware of how much time passed and how much blood he was consuming.

After a moment, he withdrew, and both watched in awe as the new puncture wounds disappeared again; this time, the instant his lips left Hannibal’s skin.

“I don’t feel any fatigue,” Hannibal noted, eyes wandering as he checked himself internally. “My blood must have been regenerating itself as you fed.”

Will covered his mouth, feeling his fangs retract again as he slumped dazedly back into the chair, eyes wide and jaw slack.

He could feed without suffering. Without guilt over harming someone. Without fear he’d get carried away, drain Hannibal dry and risk exposure.

He looked Hannibal up and down, stunned and almost at a loss for words.

“ _Holy shit._ ”

Hannibal beamed at him, unable to control his own joy and reaching out to cup Will’s face, a movement at which Will was too distracted by bewilderment to flinch. Hannibal brushed his thumb soothingly along Will’s cheek.

“Yes, I hope you can begin to appreciate how miraculous a creature you truly are, dear Will.”

Will said nothing, his stomach twisting at the praise and the liberty Hannibal was taking within their suspended boundaries. A part of Will wanted to recoil, to reject these unsolicited advances, but the part of him that was basking in the triumph of their shared discovery was currently much more dominant.

Instead, Will closed his eyes and allowed himself to melt into the touch.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He felt a light tap on his cheek before Hannibal’s hand was removed entirely. Will’s eyes fluttered open as he watched Hannibal adjust himself and walk back across the room, seating himself primly in his own therapy chair again.

“Do not thank me yet,” Hannibal said, barely hiding his amusement. “Our agreement was answers in exchange for blood, and you’ve prematurely helped yourself to a second serving. You are currently in my debt, and I intend to collect before the hour is up.”

Will laughed genuinely, feeling a flutter of exhilaration in his chest as he realized the freedom of doing so. He’d never felt so _confident._ Gathering himself to sit up properly, he met Hannibal’s gaze dead on and grinned.

“Bring it on, Doctor.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal turned off the ignition and stepped out of his car, taking mind not to muddy his shoes on the dirt road that had been dampened with morning mist. He glanced around the spacious property, a tinge of apprehension as he noted the many potential hiding places on the lot. He believed he had made tremendous progress in his relationship with Will during their last meeting, but he was under no illusions that Will would not prefer him out of the picture entirely.

And luring Hannibal out into the middle of nowhere on a Saturday morning, surrounded by trees and a conveniently located barn, was certainly an ideal way to accomplish that. However, despite any misgivings, Hannibal believed that Will had sounded genuine on the phone.

_“Good morning, Will.”_

_“You looked up where I live, right?”_

_“Wolftrap, Virgina. Yes. Are you alright? You sound-“_

_“Can you come out here? The quicker, the better. I, uh, need you.”_

The line had gone dead before Hannibal could even formulate a response, but he had grabbed his coat and been out the door in under a minute. Will’s noticeable distress, his speech a rasping staccato, had only partially been to blame for the fire it lit under Hannibal. Whatever Will’s motivation for the call, Hannibal found himself helplessly curious to find out first hand.

As Hannibal approached the white farmhouse, he was greeted by the muffled sounds of dogs barking.  He stepped onto the porch, keeping an eye out for his surroundings while trying to peer inside to see just how many animals Will Graham owned. However, he found his view was completely obstructed with a solid, shiny blackness, both through the large windows and the front door.

Hannibal knocked and waited. After a moment, all he had been met with was more barking. “Will?”

“It’s open!”

Hannibal bristled at the lack of hospitality, but turned the knob and entered regardless. As he expected, he was swarmed with at least half a dozen excited dogs. Luckily, he had prepared for this, dipping into his pocket and tossing out treats before his entire suit was covered in hair.

“Those better be store-bought,” came a gruff mutter from the corner. “I make my own, but I don’t trust you to do the same.”

Hannibal’s gaze fell towards the bed, located in the main living space, off to the right and away from the hodgepodge of furniture and knickknacks surrounding the fireplace to the left. Situated in front of two black tarps lining the corner wall, Will peeked out from under a heap of blankets.

“I can assure you,” Hannibal retorted, “I only save my prime cuts for those who might appreciate them.”

“Shut the door,” Will growled. "Please?"

Hannibal did so, noticing that the front windows had been blacked out by garbage bags, a much more hastily done job than the cocoon of darkness that ensconced Will in the corner.

“What happened?”

“Stupidity happened,” Will grumbled.

Hannibal strode over to the bed, patting a couple of the dogs along the way before sitting on the edge. “Show me.”

Will sighed, the blankets slowly unwrapping from his face and sliding off his head. Hannibal was instantly overwhelmed with two scents; the lovely ambrosia Will normally let off, and the distinctly unpleasant smell of burnt flesh. He watched as Will was revealed to him, blotches of raw, blistered and singed skin covering the left side of his face.

“It was a lot worse when I called you.” Obviously in a great deal of pain, Will sounded irritated and embarrassed. “But I’m still healing pretty slowly.”

Hannibal reached inside the blankets to inspect Will’s hands, turning them over to see his palms also burnt but healing slowly. No doubt a result of Will covering his face when he had stepped outside.

“You did not mention this as an issue, and have held a day job for three months," Hannibal stated evenly. "I had assumed the lore of vampires’ sun-sensitivity was yet another myth.”

“No, definitely real.” Will sucked air between gritted teeth, trying not to flinch when Hannibal reached forward to lightly touch the edges of a burn on his face. What should have been healthy, freshly formed skin instead flaked off with minimal abrasion. Not only was Will healing much slower than Hannibal had seen him previously, he was also healing much less effectively. “It’s just not a problem if I feed.”

Hannibal quirked a brow. “So you need my blood.”

Will nodded sheepishly. “Yes, please.”

“You could have had plenty if you had shown up to our scheduled appointment last night.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Will groused. “I was following up on a lead. I did send you a text.”

Hannibal remained passive. “This is not about etiquette, Will. Although, yes, advanced notice would be appreciated in the future. You are lucky I do not hold you to the 24 hour cancellation policy.”

Will snorted. "I'd be more concerned if I were paying more than a dollar an hour to keep everything legitimate."

Hannibal peeled back the covers entirely to reveal Will was fully dressed. He traced two fingers down the left side of Will’s neck and pulled back the fabric to see that the burns stopped at Will’s collar. It seemed only direct exposure to sunlight had been the cause of his injuries.

“Tell me how you allowed this to happen.”

Will glared at him, annoyed that Hannibal was demanding answers first, even now. That in no way dissuaded Hannibal from seeking them.

Will sighed. “I haven’t exactly been on top of things at work. I’ve been a frantic, twitchy mess. At least, more so than usual. But with your blood…the amount of blood you let me take from you...I guess I was feeling overconfident.”

“Were there any signs?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah,” Will replied, irritated with himself. “Yesterday the hunger started eating away at me again. Outside my skin started to…it’s somewhere between an itch and a burn. It started late in the day, right before sunset. I was working until 5 AM and I couldn’t really do anything about it. But this morning, when they called me about this crime scene I _need_  to get to, I ran out the door without thinking.”

Hannibal pursed his lips. “If they hadn’t called you, or you hadn’t called me, what would you have done?”

Will shrugged. “What I’ve had to do for months; told them I was sick, stayed inside until sundown and then run out to feed as soon as I could.”

“You wouldn’t have fed on the dogs?”

Will’s face was nothing but shock and disgust.

Hannibal was unfazed by Will’s reaction. “It’s a genuine question. Would you not work your hardest to exercise restraint with them?”

Will snorted. “It wouldn’t matter. It has to be human.”

“How do you-“

“I _know_ ,” Will said definitively, clearly unwilling to share how he was so certain.

Hannibal was simply amused that Will had more readily admitted to murdering four humans than harming an animal.

Will flicked his eyes down to Hannibal’s arm. “Speaking of.”

Hannibal considered Will’s relative honesty. He unbuttoned his sleeve and tugged it up his arm, already feeling a rush of excitement. Holding his wrist out, Will’s eyes darkened and his fangs extended, a sight Hannibal found no less striking than the first time he’d seen it. In fact, those features on top of the burns and general air of desperation, Will personified ‘craving’ perfectly. He was Famine, and Hannibal dared to nourish him. This thought, more than anything, seized Hannibal rigorously even as Will’s teeth sunk into his flesh.

Hannibal pulled Will into himself shamelessly, curling Will’s torso so that he lay sideways and his shoulder blades rested against Hannibal’s chest. Will, for his part, seemed far more willing to go than he had before, so weak was his resistance in this moment. Riding the high that came from the sharp pain and gradual blood loss, Hannibal ran his free hand through Will’s curls, a soothing motion for them both as Will’s suction grew deeper. Hannibal couldn’t see much from his angle, but he cherished Will’s tiny moans that alternated with the satisfied suckling sounds he made.

And, of course, the taste of honeyed arousal in the air that grew thicker with each passing second, making Hannibal want to abandon all sense of self-preservation and let Will drain him dry. He wished more than anything he could sustain the feeling indefinitely.

“Will, that’s enough,” Hannibal muttered as that thought echoed through his higher consciousness.

Will, however, was non-responsive. With great effort, Hannibal shook his arm to signal that this needed to end. Still nothing. Finally, Hannibal wrapped his fingers tight in Will’s curls and jerked his arm away.

This, in retrospect, had been unwise.

Will’s docility vanished instantaneously. Before Hannibal even knew what was happening, Will had broken their embrace and Hannibal was flat on his back, pinned against the bed. Will growled, his face entirely healed and inches from Hannibal’s own, eyes as red as his blood-stained mouth. His expression was a display of pure animalistic dominance.

Hannibal’s excitement only grew at this savagery, as did his erection, now undeniably brushing against Will’s as the younger man bore down over top of him. He didn’t need to struggle against Will to feel that vampire strength had him completely restrained and he stood no chance if he fought back. A situation Hannibal would normally find thoroughly disconcerting; he had never been one to submit.

But, in this case, he freely recognized the other entity’s superiority and took pleasure in embracing it.

“If you kill me, you will be the one who suffers,” Hannibal cautioned, wondering if the magnificent creature he spoke to in that moment was capable of reason. He turned his head far enough for his cheek to press against the mattress, baring his neck without breaking eye contact. “If you think you can bear that, so be it.”

As he watched Will pause, taking time to register his words, Hannibal wondered to himself how much of his offer had actually been a bluff.

A small whimper came from across the room, and they both tilted their heads to see Will’s dogs cowering behind the armchair in the corner. At that, Will’s vampiric features retreated, along with his animalistic expression, leaving behind something more human, in more ways than one. His face collapsed into despair when he saw the fear in his pets, but he quickly affected a calming, affectionate demeanor.

“Hey guys, shh, it’s okay. Daddy’s alright.” Will climbed off Hannibal and approached the pack with caution. “I’m better now, see? I’d never hurt you guys.”

Hannibal pulled himself together and sat upright on the edge of the bed, clutching his still bleeding arm as he watched Will tentatively reach out to pet his dogs. When most of them scattered, still too frightened of their master, Will slumped, looking defeated and dropping dejectedly into the armchair.

Only a mixed-breed animal, one obviously of golden retriever lineage, stayed behind, nuzzling up against Will’s leg without fear. Will smiled, leaning forward to pet the loyal creature fondly, clearly thankful for its display of confidence in him.

Something struck Hannibal in that moment, beneath the frustration that his need for healing wasn’t immediately being tended to. He felt an appreciation for Will, beyond the beauty of his vampirism, the intrigue of their current stalemate, or Will's curious suffering over the moral quandary of his circumstance. As he watched Will demonstrate genuine affection for the animal that had stuck by him in spite of his monstrosity, Hannibal developed the strange desire to be on both the giving and receiving ends of that same affection.

“Sorry,” Will said eventually, glancing up briefly to catch Hannibal’s gaze.  “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Instinct, I imagine,” Hannibal replied, his breathing still heavy from the blood-loss and residual pain. “So long as you continue to deny your appetite, I expect the demon within you will find ways to claw forth and seize what you need to survive. While I find it glorious to behold, I believe you seek more control and stability. That will only come when you accept that feeding regularly should be your top priority.”

“I guess,” Will muttered noncommittally. “I mean, if I die or get caught, who’s going to take care of poor Winston here?”

Will ruffled the dog’s fur even more adoringly, practically hugging the animal now.

“I would.” Hannibal did his best to stand without faltering, while still making it visibly obvious that it was indeed a struggle. “If I am still alive and you have otherwise kept up your end of our arrangement, I vow that I will make sure your animals are well taken care of, should you be unable.”

Will eyed him curiously for an uncomfortably long period of time.

“You really _would_ , wouldn’t you?” he said, his tone tinged with disbelief. “It’s a manipulation, but you’re not lying. You pride yourself on your honesty, your control and your ability to keep promises. Makes you superior to most psychopaths.”

Will turned his attention back to the dog, clearly not gauging Hannibal for a confirmation, but merely stating what he inexplicably knew to be true. Once again, Hannibal was astounded with the young man’s perceptiveness. He was deeply curious to know what aspect of vampirism allowed Will to intuit such things, but he figured that was a question for another time.

As Will patted Winston lightly, he rose out of the chair and walked over to the front door, opening it and whistling to signal the dogs. They all rushed outside while Will basked in the warm sunlight on his face, content that he could do so again without burning. Finally, he let the door close and strode over to Hannibal.

“Thanks,” Will said, bringing his own wrist to his mouth. After a brief flash of crimson irises and a soft crunching sound, Will’s face instantly returned to normal as he held out his wrist to Hannibal. Two fresh drops of blood painted Will’s otherwise smooth, puncture-free skin. “For driving out here. For the blood. For being calm and understanding. I just…thank you.”

Hannibal merely nodded before holding the bloody wrist to his lips and licking it clean. He’d always enjoyed the taste of blood, despite it’s metallic unpleasantness, because it usually accompanied a situation where he’d been able to draw it himself. However, that didn’t compare to the euphoria he felt at being offered Will’s blood, its taste blending with Will’s intoxicating scent and sending a powerful, soothing tingle throughout his body as he swallowed. Within seconds, he felt his puncture wounds healing and his strength return to him, but he continued lapping at Will’s skin for a few moments more.

Finally, Hannibal let out a small gasp of relief, wiping his mouth with his thumb and sucking it clean. “You’re welcome.”

When his fuzzy gaze focused, he caught Will watching him with uninhibited, wide-eyed desire. However, it was only a moment before he was shaking it off and pulling away.

“I..uh…” Stepping back a few paces, Will tucked one hand in his pocket and ran another through his hair, fidgety once again and trying to hide a blush. “I really do need to get to work, so…”

Hannibal nodded agreeably and stepped around him, rolling down his sleeve as he headed towards the front door. “As you wish.”

“About feeding regularly,” Will asked, and when Hannibal turned around abruptly, Will was staring pointedly into the fireplace. “Should I call to make an appointment or…”

Hannibal smirked at Will’s awkward laughter, as well as his satisfaction at not needing to broach the subject himself. “Are you free tomorrow evening?”

Will’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think I need it _that_ soon. Besides, tomorrow's Sunday.”

“Does that mean you’re otherwise engaged?” Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head. “No, I should be off-duty. Unless…” He sighed, looking around his small home. “Yeah, I’m free.”

Hannibal reached into his inner-jacket pocket and pulled out a cream envelope, the edges somewhat crumpled from Will's perching on top of him. He smoothed it out and handed it crisply over to Will, who took it tentatively, slowly turning it over in his hands to examine it.

“I will see you then,” Hannibal stated, turning gracefully towards the door. “Best of luck at work today.”

* * *

 

When Will pulled up to the crime scene, the investigation was already well under way. Which had been expected, given he was showing up nearly three hours late.

Thanks to Hannibal, at least he’d been able to show up at all. His stomach twisted as he thought about how indebted he was to someone he should be slapping cuffs on.

What he hadn’t expected was to find FBI crawling all over the scene. He saw Zeller and Price, the latter of which was at least _pretending_ to be happy to see him. But before he could even approach the body, he was headed off by a new FBI forensic tech who introduced herself as Beverly Katz.

“Boss-man’s waiting to speak to you before you take a look,” she said, grinning and eyeing him with interest.

Will pushed his glasses further up his nose and shifted uncomfortably. “Did he say why?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he wants to write you up a tardy-slip.”

About twenty minutes later, while Will was waiting at a park bench and examining his own hands in the sun, appreciative of his ability to do so, he was cast in shadow by a large figure.

“Detective Graham.”

Will stood, holding his hand out awkwardly and giving the bare minimum of eye contact.

“Agent Crawford, good to see you.”

Jack Crawford, Head of the Behavioural Science Unit, smiled and shook his hand. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”

Will looked away and bit his lip. “I thought I had made myself clear before. I didn’t really see the point in calling you back.”

“We could use you on our team, Will,” Jack said smoothly, skipping the small talk and launching right into the same sale pitch he gave every time they met at a crime scene. Which, in the past few months, had been increasingly frequent. “Forget the Baltimore PD; think of the cases you could solve, the _lives_ you could save, if you let us borrow your imagination.”

“We both know I won’t make it past the screening procedures for Quantico,” Will sighed. “Which is probably for the best. I’m guessing you’ve already spoken to my captain, heard about all my absences and mood swings and overall poor performance? Hell, I’m just showing up here _now_. I can’t hack it, Jack. I’m quitting at the end of the month.”

“Which is perfect timing, since we just so happen to have an outside consultant’s position opening exactly then!” Jack smiled. “There are ways around screening procedures. Say the word, and you can trade in your detective’s badge for a special agent badge in a heartbeat.”

“I’d rather just take the assistant professor job I've been offered at the academy,” Will shrugged. “I’m not denying that my mind can be useful. But I need to get _out_ of the field, not broaden the field's boundaries to a national scale.”

He also needed to get away from a job where he was expected to keep it together at the blood-soaked crime scenes he visited every day. He'd nearly torn the throats out of his entire investigation team at least half a dozen times. And even if Hannibal's blood had made those urges much more manageable, it was only a matter of time before even that wasn't enough.

Jack raised his brow. “Uh huh. Is that why you’ve been looking into victims that match the one we just found today in five other states?”

Will pursed his lips. So the FBI had been keeping track of his searches on the databases at work. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was annoyed. And also a little concerned. He’d been careful, but not careful enough that he’d completely covered his tracks. Detective Graham looking into the ongoing Chesapeake Ripper investigation wouldn’t raise too many red flags, since he’d been on-duty at three of the crime scenes, the second of which had been where Jack had first witnessed his ability. However, Detective Graham looking into four missing persons that just so happened to have been last seen at clubs with someone who fit Detective Graham’s exact description…

Will mentally shook it off. He was being paranoid again. No one was looking into those cases. There weren’t any witnesses who would have been in their right mind to identify him reliably. All the missing persons were presumed runaways because he specifically targeted unstable college kids. And he was a homicide detective; he knew how to get rid of a body and not have it trace back to him.

Will noted that for the first time, the feelings of shame, remorse and nausea that usually accompanied these reminders were remarkably absent.

Still, the fact that Jack knew Will was interested in today’s crime scene as an extracurricular was not ideal. While it wasn’t his victim, nor was it likely one of Hannibal’s, he didn’t like that Jack could link him with the case at all. He’d have to pretend this was merely an empathic detective’s curiosity. He was simply a dog with a bone.

“Can I at least see the scene, please?” Will asked, trying his best to hide his irritation, given who he was speaking to. With Hannibal’s blood in him, he was able to manage it much more smoothly than usual.

Jack glanced at him knowingly. “We’ve taken over the investigation, so technically I don’t need to let any police on site. But I would be willing to allow a candidate I’m recruiting for that consulting position prove their mettle.”

Will stared down at his shoes. “I’m taking the teaching job, Jack.”

Jack raised his hands defensively. “That’s fine. You do what you want. But I may just pull rank and drag you out of the classroom the next time one of these bodies pop up. Your profiling technique works best when you've seen it yourself, right?”

Will grunted but Jack had a point. No pictures or description would do the scene justice. For his empathy to be the most effective, he had to see the aftermath oft the crime with his own eyes. He had to hear the echo of screams. Now that he was a vampire, he could smell the residual fear in the blood, he could practically taste it in the air. His best hope of finding the perpetrator was to witness his handiwork first-hand. And he needed to find the perpetrator.

“Okay,” Will relented. “I’ll teach _and_ help you out, on a case-by-case basis. Good enough?”

Jack nodded, clearly pleased. “For now.”

He led Will back to the scene, past the many agents and techs. Beverly smiled from beneath her clear visor, miming a playful spanking when Jack wasn't looking. Will suppressed a grin, which in itself was odd. Will didn’t usually have much reason to grin at work. But as soon as they rounded the playground, they came upon the swingset, and anything positive that Will had been feeling fell away.

Propped up in the middle swing was a blonde-haired young man, no more than seventeen. His head had fallen slack against his chest, but his arms wrapped around both chains in a way that had kept him sitting upright. Will knew he couldn’t have died there; he must have been killed elsewhere and posed that way until _rigor mortis_ had set in.

Will didn't need to slip into his mental reconstruction to see the kid was malnourished and sporting lacerations all over his arms and legs, some more recent than others. Odds were that the cuts and bruises were more severe underneath the kid’s clothing. More notably, however, was the gaping neck wound the victim had on his left side. The wound was much larger and far more mutilated than anything Will had ever accidentally caused when he’d failed to show restraint with his own victims.

This wasn’t just the work of a vampire; the kid had met his end at the fangs of a _sadist_. The same sadist who had left three other teenage boys in similar states around Baltimore playgrounds in the last few months.

As Will crouched to the ground, glancing up to get a better look at the boy’s face, he was nearly bowled over with the same confused, heart-wrenching numbness that had greeted him at those previous three scenes. At least he’d expected it this time, even if it didn’t make what he saw any easier to process.

The _most_ notable aspect of this crime scene wasn’t how the victim was found, but who Will knew him to be. Not by name, but by a detail that linked this kid to the others more tangibly than any physical evidence, and yet Will would never be able to share it with his fellow investigators.

How could Will be expected to explain that he was currently staring up at one of the five kids who had murdered him?


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Will,_

_I humbly request the pleasure_  
_of your company at my home,_  
 _tomorrow evening at 8 pm._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Hannibal Lecter_

_  
_ “Good evening, Will.”

Sniffing the air for any residual blood from the last time he had stood on Hannibal’s porch, Will was unsurprised to find that he couldn’t sense a trace. He turned his attention to the now open doorway, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Good evening, Dr. Lecter.”

The first thing Will noticed was Hannibal had dressed relatively casually, wearing grey pants and a blue-and-black checkered sweater with a deep v-neck. Yes, the outfit was downright formal when compared to Will’s least-puckered flannel button-down, but still, the difference was notable.

“You’re early,” Hannibal observed.

Confused, Will checked his watch. “By maybe a minute?”

Hannibal raised his brow and stepped aside, signalling Will to enter. Will narrowed his eyes, casting his glace around the doorframe, suddenly understanding the game Hannibal was playing. Stepping forward, Will tentatively reached out and, as expected, his hand came up against the same invisible barrier that had separated them weeks before.

Will leaned forward, resting his palm against the solid air. “Very funny.”

“I like to think of it as illuminating.” Hannibal smirked, reaching his fingers forward, tracing the space inches in front of Will’s palm before pressing his own up against it. He smiled more genuinely then, allowing heat to pass between their skin before pulling his own hand away entirely while Will remained unmoved, seemingly suspended against thin air. “The rules that bar vampires from entering private residences must be very particular.”

Will grunted. “Are you planning for me to stand here all night like Marcel Marceau?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal said, glancing down to his own watch. “In fact, the invitation should be taking effect…now.”

In that instant, Will stumbled forward.

Using cat-like reflexes, Hannibal seized upon the momentum, pulling Will into him before he fell flat on his face. Suddenly Will found himself flush against the larger man and, without thinking or much hesitation, he began inhaling the heady scent of Hannibal’s eagerness.

Mind swimming in just a few breaths, Will gripped Hannibal tightly and thrust them both against the nearest wall, Hannibal gasping with pleasure when his back made impact. Instinctively, Will sought out the source of the delicious pulsating he sensed, nuzzling at the crook of Hannibal’s neck, an act which Hannibal was all too happy to tilt his head and oblige. Will’s body thrummed, satisfied as it felt the hard form against him yield. He was reminded of a similar feeling from the day before, when he'd pinned Hannibal to the bed without thinking. This time, the sensation was pleasantly tamer, now that his possession wasn’t resisting him. Now that it was behaving properly, like it belonged to him.

 _Mine,_ Will’s blood sang. Undulating against the taller man, he nipped affectionately at the pulse beneath his fangs, careful not to pierce the skin, toying with the idea of taking what was his. In the back of his mind, however, the weight of everything he felt slowly dawned on him. _The Chesapeake Ripper is mine._

Articulating that thought was enough to snap Will out of his trance. Forcing his features to shift back to normal, Will broke free from the embrace and took several steps back. He looked down and adjusted his glasses, trying his best not to appear as flustered as he felt. “Sorry. I, uh-”

“No apologies needed,” Hannibal interjected in an unhurried whisper.  Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open and he wore an expression of serene satisfaction. Taking only seconds to compose himself, he glanced at Will with a piercing gaze that spoke volumes. “If you would, follow me.”

Moments later, Will was seated at a large table in an elegant blue dining room, opposite an empty chair he presumed would soon seat Hannibal.

Even though he wasn’t being watched, Will tried his best not to fidget, still recovering from the excitement his nascent instincts had stirred within him. He was disturbed by the overwhelming urge for possession that had seized him. Okay, he’d always felt a deep craving for those he fed on. An undeniable desire to take what he needed to survive. But what he was feeling for Hannibal now was far beyond that, and it grated against every moral fiber that remained within Will's character.

As Hannibal entered the dining room, carrying a platter with several champagne flutes, Will was once again seized by the strong desire to _claim_ the man he knew to be a cold-blooded monster. And Hannibal must have known it, too, by the way he flaunted his vulnerable, exposed neck while bending beside him to place the platter before him. Will closed his eyes and turned his face away, trying his best to get a hold of himself.

Yes, they had an agreement that allowed Will to drink from Hannibal, guilt free. And yes, Hannibal would love nothing more than for Will to act on his impulses and take without asking. But he’d be damned if he was going to give either Hannibal or his impulses the satisfaction of caving in.

No, not just yet. Not while he could still stand it.

When he could sense Hannibal was finally seated and there was a table safely between them, Will chanced a peak, finding five long-stem glasses before him, each a quarter full with thick, crimson blood. He looked up to see Hannibal holding a sixth glass, the liquid in that flute no doubt actually champagne. 

“What is this?” Will didn't hide his suspicion.

“A tasting,” Hannibal replied, unabashedly pleased with his own innovation. He sniffed the bouquet of his own drink. “I was quite disappointed when you informed me that most food no longer holds any appeal for you, as the culinary arts are one of my great passions.”

Will snorted. “Of course they are.”

Hannibal quirked a smile, continuing. “However, I’m curious to know if a vampire’s palette allows for the enhancement of human blood’s natural flavour. And if so, what you prefer.”

Will looked skeptically at the glasses. “And whose blood have you enhanced?”

“My own.” Hannibal took a sip, unfazed by Will’s direct accusation. “Of course, if you were interested, I do have stocks from other sources on hand.”

“No.” Will scratched his head, actively avoiding voicing his concern about drinking the freeze-thawed blood of Hannibal’s victims. Partially because he didn’t want to be an accessory after the fact, but mostly because he was afraid of the emotions of people he didn’t know. “This is fine. It’s, um, surprisingly thoughtful. Thank you.”

Hannibal smiled and nodded graciously, expression brightening as he watched Will struggle with choosing a glass to try first. “The one on the left is untouched, if you need a base flavour to draw from.”

Will grasped it and looked inside, swirling the red liquid around and watching the ripples stain the inside the glass above the fill line. He brought the brim to his nose and, emulating Hannibal, inhaled to see if he could detect the notes of signature calmness that distinguished the killer’s blood from everyone else he’d ever tasted.

Will’s mouth twisted up in mild disappointment.  The unmistakable scent of Hannibal’s blood was present, but something else about it seemed off.

“You didn't put anything in this?” Will asked, his tone doing nothing to hide the accusation.  

Hannibal gave him a bemused look. “I assure you, that glass was filled straight from the vein.”

Will cocked a brow. “And you didn’t put anything in _yourself_ before you drew it?”

Hannibal tilted his head. “Would that have an effect?”

Will nodded. “Clubbers are usually on something. And afterwards, by proxy, so am I. For a little while, at least.”

Hannibal simply looked intrigued. “I shall take that into future consideration. But there is nothing I wish to gain by deceiving you this evening. The blood before you is clean.”

Will sighed. Hannibal had both the means and motive to attempt to incapacitate Will by spiking his blood. As far as Will’s internal lie-detector could gauge, however, Hannibal was being honest. Besides, even if he was wrong, his vampire physiology would likely metabolize whatever it was quickly.

He took a sip. And nearly gagged.

Not wanting to be rude, Will did not immediately spit the blood back into his glass. Instead, he swished it around in his mouth a few times before swallowing the unappealing liquid down. Judging by the look on Hannibal’s face, however, Will had not been particularly masterful at hiding his disgust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Hannibal asked in earnest.

“Nothing,” Will coughed unconvincingly.

“Will, I thought we agreed to be honest.”

Will placed the flute back on the platter, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Hannibal leaned forward, folding his hands and indicating to the rejected glass of his own blood. “This is an experiment, and evidently, it has failed. Explain how.”

“It tastes…” Will shifted his gaze away. “Bad. Stale? Like milk that’s just gone off.”

Hannibal was genuinely confounded. “I drew that blood not half an hour ago.”

Will shrugged, irritated by the awkwardness of the situation. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You needn’t be defensive,” Hannibal reassured him. “Your face did not change, even as you were drinking. Your physiology is telling you that this will not nourish you. Tell me, Will, what do you mean by ‘stale?’”

Letting out a frustrated breath, Will brought the glass back to his lips. Not bothering to hide his distaste, he took another sip and let the sour, bitter flavour sit on his tongue before he spit the rancid liquid back into the glass.

“Besides bad?” Will said, wiping his mouth with the elegantly embroidered dinner napkin he’d been provided with. “It's just…lifeless.”

Both Hannibal’s brows raised at that. “It lacks the vitality you normally feel when drinking from humans directly?”

Already working through the implications, Will bowed his head, defeated. “Yes,” he muttered.

“Fascinating,” Hannibal said with wide-eyed wonder, clearly undeterred by this discovery. “Clinically, there should be no difference between this blood or that straight from an open vein, which suggests its more than the blood itself that sustains you. Perhaps the act of draining a human’s lifeforce is what is required for you to live. At least, to live as if you were still human yourself.”

“Yeah, right. I’m a goddamn leech.” Will crossed his arms. “There goes my plan to survive off blood bags I could sneak out of ambulances at crime scenes. Hell, I’d be better off just guzzling on the open wounds of survivors.”

Hannibal’s forehead crinkled. “Had you not considered subsisting on blood bags before tonight?”

Crestfallen at his circumstances, Will forgot to censor himself. “Didn’t want to risk drinking from an unknown donor.”

“Why?” Hannibal queried, and Will realized his mistake. His eyes widened but he kept his lips sealed. Hannibal was unafraid to pry. “Why does the source of the blood matter, Will?”

Will bit his lip. If he didn’t explain, Hannibal was going to figure it out, through research or by sheer cunning. And either way, Will would be vulnerable. At least now, he could be present for the fallout and witness Hannibal’s reaction, instead of imagining how he might respond to the truth.

Will averted his eyes. “Because I’m an empath.”

Hannibal gave him a long, measured glance. “Well you are certainly able to see through even the most carefully constructed masks, that much has been clear. I assumed there was some aspect of telepathy to your vampirism.”

“No, it’s not because I’m a vampire,” Will grumbled and leaned forward, meeting Hannibal’s eyes from beneath his glasses. “I’ve suffered from an empathic personality disorder my entire life. You must have come across it, in your line of work.”

“Of course.” Hannibal sounded both surprised and excited, while betraying very little of either emotion in his features. “An exceedingly rare diagnosis, as a greater capacity for empathy is typically not thought of in terms of suffering, but instead as a laudable expression of the human condition. As you can imagine, I have somewhat divergent views on the matter.”

“I’m shocked,” Will replied flatly. “Well, let me reinforce your opinion; it’s _hell_. Whatever the purest form of the disorder is, I have it. I thought I was at the farthest end of the spectrum, but turning into a vampire has seemingly pushed me off the edge completely. I was barely functioning when I was _alive_ , but now...”

The glint in Hannibal’s eye made it appear as if he’d just discovered an exciting new feature in his favourite toy. “And your amplified empathy somehow manifests when you drink blood?”

Will nodded reluctantly. “As easy as it was to absorb other people’s emotions before, I at least had a system to protect myself. Mostly, avoiding people whenever possible.”

Resolve collapsing, he pulled off his glasses and flung them carelessly on the table.  

“Now I can’t escape them. I literally have to feed off people to survive.” Will brought both hands together to cover his face, shielding himself. There was only so much he could take of Hannibal openly revering the source of his anguish. “Drinking their blood? It’s like I’m mainlining their personalities.”

He breathed heavily into his palms, trying to resist drawing on Hannibal’s demeanor to calm himself. He didn't need to feel like his pain was a gift.

Seconds later, however, Hannibal was kneeling at his side, grasping his shoulder and soothingly patting his hand along the back of Will’s neck. Will thought to jerk away, Hannibal’s scent suddenly close enough that it reignited all his unwanted impulses from earlier that evening. But he remained still, allowing Hannibal’s tranquility to permeate his frazzled state of mind.

“You know, I’m a touch-sensitive empath too.” Will grumbled. “At least, I am now. I can _feel_ you getting off on this. Just like I can feel when you’re trying to manipulate me. It’s how I pegged you as a predator, luring me back to your den.”

He could sense Hannibal smiling. “And I imagine you were able to piece together a more complete picture when you unsuccessfully attempted to drain me dry.”

“I’ve been to your crime scenes, reconstructed your thinking,” Will cast a dark glance towards Hannibal. “Your mind is pretty distinct. It didn’t take me long to place it after drinking from you.”

Hannibal’s grip on his shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. 

“Tell me, Will," His voice dropped to a whisper. "How do you see me?”

Will turned in his chair to face Hannibal directly. “Beyond your being a meticulous, sadistic, psychopathic serial killer who gets his kicks publicly humiliating those who, in your eyes, squander their potential?”

Hannibal inhaled sharply, but he was far from offended. “Yes, beyond that.”

Will laughed sardonically. “You’re an artist. The human form is your medium. And as far as contemporaries go, you are unmatched. Except, of course, by God.”

The smile that slowly spread across Hannibal’s face was one of pure joy. Clearly he’d never heard his motives described so accurately or succinctly. He was radiating pride at being understood so thoroughly, and Will could actually feel Hannibal’s fondness for him grow.

“I thought I was uniquely capable of appreciating your beauty,” Hannibal rasped, raising a hand to cup Will’s face and gently brushing Will’s cheek with his thumb. “But it would seem even I was blind to the intricacies of your miraculous nature.”

God, Will wanted nothing more than _to want_ to pull away, to reject the adoration of the one monster he knew he should abhor above all others. Yet it was impossible; with Hannibal’s reverent temperament seeping into him, he couldn’t help mirroring a similar awe when witnessing the depths of emotion this unquestionably cruel creature was capable of. And with his blossoming impulse to claim the same creature further flooding his senses with every passing second, he found the sight of Hannibal kneeling before him damn near irresistible.

Finally, he allowed himself to melt into Hannibal's touch.

“Do you have any idea how screwed I am?” Will laughed. “I just took a job with the FBI.”

The soothing motion of the thumb on his cheek stilled. “I thought you were hoping to quit law enforcement.”

“I was,” Will admitted, bringing his eyes to meet Hannibal’s. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Hannibal asked softly, but Will shook his head and looked away, and Hannibal resolved to drop it for the time being.

“Talk about a conflict of interest, though,” Will joked sardonically, staring at the four untouched glasses of blood. He grabbed the one in the middle and brought the brim to his nose, inhaling. It didn’t smell nearly as off as he knew it would taste. “Is that garlic?”

Hannibal grinned wryly. “So long as we were experimenting, I felt compelled to test the veracity of that particular myth as well.”

“Well, for the record, it doesn’t seem to bother me.” Will chuckled despite himself, placing the glass back down. “Sorry for ruining your dinner party with my unforeseen dietary restrictions.”

Hannibal searched his eyes, and then dropped his hand away, using the edge of the table to allow him to stand.

“Our night is far from ruined.” He held out his hand, which Will eyed warily. “Come with me. I had something else I wish to share with you this evening.”

“It’s not your kill room, is it?” Will deadpanned.

Hannibal licked his lips, grinning. “Perhaps another time.”

Will sighed reluctantly, throwing his napkin on the table and taking Hannibal’s hand.

They exited the dining room and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Will could not help but think of a slasher film where the frightened co-ed stupidly opted for next floor up instead of seeking the front door, but quickly reminded himself that the soon-to-be-victim was rarely holding the killer’s hand the entire time. He also tried to seek comfort with the knowledge that, between the two of them, Will was actually more likely to be cast as the terrifying, unstoppable villain.

More confusingly, however, it was also near impossible to ignore how goddamn _smitten_ Hannibal seemed every time he dared to glance back at Will. If Hannibal had ulterior motives for luring Will upstairs, they probably weren’t to harm him. A thought which did absolutely nothing to ease Will’s chaotic nerves.

Passing an open entranceway that Will strongly suspected lead to the master bedroom, Hannibal broke their clasped fingers to simultaneously open a pair of stylish French doors. Will stepped inside cautiously to find himself in the middle of a small room whose perimeter consisted entirely with bookcases. He'd been lead to a home library, not dissimilar to the one in Hannibal’s office, but smaller. Near the back wall, there was an antique desk, clutter free other than the pile of thick, old books stacked high in the middle. 

“I had these shipped over. ” Hannibal said, gesturing towards the stack. “They arrived this week. I had hoped to share them with you on Friday.”

Cautiously, Will picked up the book on top, showing great care for the timeworn binding that was in otherwise excellent condition. He flipped open to a random page, noticing first how dated the script and printing style was, followed by the realization that he couldn’t understand a single word on the page.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Family heirlooms,” Hannibal replied. “Part of a much vaster collection, normally stored in a library much larger than this one. However, after our first encounter, I requested their custodian send these particular volumes, as I thought they might shed some light on our circumstance.”

Will immediately clued in. “They’re about vampires?”

“They reference many different beasts of folklore, including vampires,” Hannibal amended, picking up the next book on the pile and tugging at a bookmark. He turned to the marked page and held it out to Will. It showed a rather crude illustration of a demon feeding on a maiden’s gruesomely maimed corpse, but even in black and white, the veins raised around the creature’s bloodshot eyes were remarkably familiar. “Their descriptions and accounts of vampire encounters vary from book to book. So far, not a single one has matched exactly what we have experienced to be true. But they do have the benefit of being published prior to the popularity of vampires in literature, and as such, avoid being influenced by those particular fictions.”

“Wow.” Will flipped through the pages of the one he was holding, ignoring the words he couldn’t read to seek out the illustrations, sadly finding them few and far between. One drawing attempted to show that vampires didn’t cast a reflection in mirrors, and while Will suspected others thought he often dressed like that was true, he knew it to be yet another myth. Still, these books seemed far more legitimate than anything he’d come across on his own, when he'd been armed with only a search engine and questions he couldn't quite put into words. “Thank you for sharing. I can’t read them, obviously, so you’ll have to translate.”

“Yes. For myself as well.” Hannibal carefully placed the book he was holding on the desk to pick up another. “Not all of these books are written in languages with which I am fluent, so those will take more time than others. But I have read them all, at one point or another, so it shouldn’t be an insurmountable problem.”

“You’ve read them before?” Will asked, attention mainly held by the first book he’d grabbed.

Hannibal hummed affirmatively. “As a child, I was obsessed. With many things, as you can imagine, but especially with the beasts described within these pages.”

“Let me guess,” Will lightly teased, “you were trying to figure out which one you were.”

Hannibal softly closed his book. “Yes, actually.”

Will raised his brow. “And I’m assuming your prepubescent brain settled on vampire?”

“There was not a single creature I came across that I felt truly explained me.” Hannibal stepped forward, lightly grabbing the book from Will’s hands as well and placing it to the side. “Eventually, I concluded I was something else entirely. But even so, I found myself drawn back to the vampire, again and again.”

He breached their personal boundary, taking Will’s hand in his again and bringing it softly to his lips. Will stood still, allowing it to happen, utterly transfixed.

Hannibal smiled. “How history repeats itself.” 

Will could sense his own shallow breathing as Hannibal closed his eyes, unashamedly inhaling Will’s scent.

“Have you come across anything in the books you suspect might be true?” he asked, searching for anything to distract himself from his sudden rush of arousal. He fought desperately to not recall, in vivid detail, the glorious sensation of Hannibal’s hand sure around his cock.

“Several,” Hannibal answered, breathing out slowly, deliberately. “A common theme is how irresistible vampires can be, despite their dark intentions. I believe I have identified at least one factor underlying their appeal.”

“Oh?” Will said simply, knowing it sounded dumb and refusing to care.

“I have hyperosmia." Hannibal inhaled again, exhaling with a smile when he saw Will didn't follow. "A particularly keen nose. It's the source of my incredibly precise palette. And without indulgence, I must tell you; your aroma is _heavenly_.”

Will was suddenly skeptical, and a little disheartened. “You’re attracted to how I smell?”

“Absolutely. Which is quite a compliment, coming from me, at least. But this is more than that,” Hannibal elaborated, lowering Will’s hand and meeting his eyes. “Your particular scent is faint enough that most people would not be consciously aware of it, but would likely find themselves entranced by your presence nonetheless. I’m not certain, but I suspect you give off a pheromone meant to trigger interest and arousal in humans. An olfactory aphrodisiac, one that draws your prey to you, making them more pliant in your presence.”

He raised a hand to Will’s neck, stroking it affectionately.

“Of course, being as handsome as you are certainly does not hurt.”

Will bit his lip, out of both discomfort and as a means to divert his impulse to bite somewhere safe. He was suddenly reminded of all the encounters in night clubs he’d had in the past few months, and how easy they had been. None of the people he had targeted had put up much resistance, but at the time, he’d chalked that up to either drugs or the club atmosphere. It wasn’t as if he’d had any faith in his ability to charm people on his own.

Will would need some time to work through the implications of this discovery, but he was certainly grateful to Hannibal for informing him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For all of it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I don’t know how I’d be getting through any of this without you.”

Hannibal leaned forward, pressing his forehead softly against Will’s, cupping his cheek and inhaling him entirely. He swallowed thickly. “Well, you’ve been most forthcoming this evening. It was only fair I return the favour. But, as per our agreement, I am still in your debt.”

Will’s gaze lowered to the vee in Hannibal’s sweater, hungrily eying the artery that pounded away louder than the drums of war. He could feel the blood rushing to his eyes and he instinctively turned away. Hannibal’s hand caught him and held their gazes firm.

“One more thing you can do for me is to stop hiding from who you are,” Hannibal stated, running his thumb underneath Will’s lower eyelid, reverently grazing the pulsating skin and eliciting a shudder. “You are truly a creature of beauty. A divine splendour to behold. Soon you will come to accept that. But until then, before you take what is owed, may I kiss you?”

Will instantly began to tremble. Despite every intimate act that they had engaged in, they had yet to kiss. Until that moment, the thought hadn't even crossed Will's mind. Too sentimental for what was between them. Or so he thought. He closed his eyes, seeking to steal Hannibal’s confidence and coming away with something else entirely.

“You want more than just a kiss,” Will said, realizing as soon as he did that he was stating the obvious. Glancing quickly downwards, he added, “Don’t need empathy to intuit that.”

“In truth, I wish to _worship_ you,” Hannibal corrected, closing the gap between them and pressing his hard length against Will’s own. “But a simple kiss will do. For now.”

Will refused to surrender to his instinct to pull away. His desire to claim would be the victor in this battle, and he chose to take up arms with the winning side. He slid his hands timidly up Hannibal’s thighs, settling at his waist, pulling them flush against each other. Tipping his head upwards, Will lurched forwards, finally sealing Hannibal’s lips with his own.

He moaned as their mouths locked, a sound Hannibal returned in kind as the kiss deepened. Will tried his best to mind his fangs, quickly discovering that Hannibal had other ideas when his tongue found its way into Will’s eager mouth. He licked each point, daring Will to draw blood. Will was sorely tempted, and with each passing second, his urge to _take_ intensified exponentially.

Will pulled away just enough to seal his mouth around Hannibal’s lower lip, using enough pressure to pierce the tender skin there and suck _hard_ , drawing a small gush of blood with a calculated bite. Hannibal let out a small hiss as Will groaned, his grip on the larger man’s waist growing bolder with every new drop trickling down his throat.

 _Christ_ , Will thought, his baser instincts taking hold as he broke the kiss. He seized Hannibal by the hem of his sweater, dragging him around the desk lightning-quick, and flinging him into the large leather chair he found there. Before Hannibal could gain his bearings, Will was on top of him, straddling his lap and grinding their erections together as his mouth once again sealed over Hannibal’s bleeding lip.

Hannibal wrapped his arms around Will, his lower arm hooking around Will’s waist, fingers dipping inside the hem of his jeans to further encourage Will’s movements. Meanwhile, Will's arousal was egged on by Hannibal’s response, and he briefly released the bloody, irritated lip to dip his tongue back into Hannibal’s mouth, the passion behind his kiss overwhelming  them both.

“ _That's_ how you’re supposed to taste,” Will announced with elation. Looking down at Hannibal from beneath his red haze, feeling the devotion this twisted human had for him, the demon that had possessed Will’s psyche was deeply satisfied on a primal level. For once, Will was happy to let that darkness take over.

He bit his wrist and held it over Hannibal’s already bloody mouth, jolts of pleasure shooting straight to his groin when he felt Hannibal begin to suck. He didn’t understand quite why he found the sensation so utterly gratifying, but he was no longer in a state of mind where he remotely cared.

When Hannibal had swallowed more than enough, Will yanked his own arm away and used it to grab one of Hannibal’s instead. He pushed up the sleeve, bringing Hannibal’s forearm to his mouth and teasing a bite. As he watched Hannibal pant beneath him, feeling his anticipation with an involuntary pump of the man’s hips, Will’s eyes once again fell to the crook of his neck that had been begging to be claimed all evening.

He traced his free hand playfully up Hannibal’s stomach, nails grazing the tender skin at the sweater’s opening before he hooked his hand around Hannibal’s neck. Pulling Hannibal’s arm one way and his head the other, Will exposed Hannibal’s jugular for the taking, and he wasted no time seizing that opportunity. His fangs latched onto Hannibal’s neck, piercing without hesitation or concern, and Hannibal’s uncontrollable gasp, a heady mix of pain and pleasure, was almost enough to make Will come then and there.

Instead, he retracted his fangs, lapping at the spilled blood that streamed down Hannibal’s front before sealing his mouth around the wound and sucking without mercy. Hannibal writhed beneath him, and Will met his every spasm with a controlled thrust of dominance, asserting himself as the higher being that Hannibal believed him to be, a belief Will was all but forced to emulate.

As Will drank, slaking his thirst and absorbing Hannibal’s every deep, rapturous emotion, he felt his arousal creep up on him with all the subtlety of a freight train. When Hannibal finally surrendered to his own orgasm, clutching desperately at Will, muttering in his native tongue as the life was ruthlessly drained from him, Will had no choice but to follow. Ecstasy seized him has he found his release, drinking and grinding and claiming what was his. It was the first moment of pure, uninhibited bliss Will had experienced since the night he’d been killed, and Will was in no way ready for it to pass.

But all things end eventually, and when Will came back to himself, he found Hannibal staring up at him, entirely spent yet shamelessly euphoric. Will growled, an actual fulfilled, rumbling _growl_ , and traced his tongue along Hannibal’s healed neck wound to capture every last drop of blood. His pelvis still moved, careful and unhurried, and he brought his mouth once again to Hannibal’s for a deep, sensuous kiss.

When he looked back down at Hannibal, he saw a great red smear across his face that hadn’t been there moments before, and Will realized his mouth must be dripping with Hannibal’s blood. Far from turning Hannibal off, the killer’s reaction to being drenched in Will's leftovers recalled that of someone being anointed with holy water. Will chuckled at the thought, blissed-out and high from his feed, collapsing with a deep sigh against Hannibal’s blood-stained chest.

“How’s that for a kiss?”

Hannibal’s only response was to groan, his heart beating rapidly under Will’s ear, the underused muscle panicking in a way its owner wasn’t capable. In that moment, more than anything, Will wanted to fall asleep to its chaotic rhythm. A desire that Hannibal could clearly detect.

“Stay with me.”

Will groaned. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“The dogs. My job.” Will chuckled. “Morality. As an abstract concept.”

“We are far outside the realm of acceptable at this point.” Hannibal brushed his hand along Will’s back so gently, Will thought he might break. “Not that we were ever in its vicinity to begin with.”

Will said nothing. He simply sighed, peeling himself off Hannibal and sliding out of the chair. Vampiric features retreating completely, he gazed sadly down at Hannibal. Will couldn’t suppress the feeling of longing he felt already, a disconcerting realization, given that they were only separated by a few feet. Whatever was making Will see Hannibal in this new light, he feared it wouldn’t be long until he surrendered to it entirely.

But, for now, he could buy himself a little more time. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, adjusting his clothing and hair to something semi-decent.

“Thank you for this evening,” Will said, as cordially as he could manage. “See you at my next appointment?”

Hannibal did not have the energy to hide his disappointment at Will's sudden retreat.

“Wednesday, seven-thirty sharp.” He said, recovering with a stiff smile. “Take care of yourself until then.”

Will blinked, silently and awkwardly nodding his goodbye. Unable to handle the inelegance of a steady exit, Will sped off down the stairs and out the front door, leaving nothing but a gust of wind in his wake.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry this update took a bit longer than previous installments. I've been dealing with real life, as one does, but this chapter is larger than most, so I hope you forgive me! 
> 
> Also I wanted to say that I'm having a blast writing this story, and your kudos and comments only help to fuel that fire, so thank you! ^_^ Please don't be discouraged if I don't reply to comments right away; I do get to all of them, even if it's after I post the next chapter. And don't worry, there are still several chapters to come :)
> 
> [Also also I want it on the record that I wrote the vast majority of this chapter _before_ a certain show dropped on Hulu yesterday, so any similarity you may notice it has with a particular scene just happens to be a delightful coincidence ;) ]

Will was holding back. They both knew it. And, against both his professional instincts and his inherent nature, Hannibal was working very hard to not be the first to bring it up.

It was not as if they were lacking in opportunity for frank discussion. Ever since Will had traded in his Detective’s Badge for a classroom, their meetings had become much more frequent.

As Will’s empathy disorder was viewed as a potential liability for the field, particularly as a Special Agent, Hannibal had been contacted by Jack Crawford to expedite the transition by providing a psychological evaluation that declared Will fit-for-duty. Although Hannibal was intrigued with the prospect of peeking behind the curtain of the FBI’s operations, specifically into the investigation of his own crimes, he was concerned that turning Will over to them entirely could compromise both their covers.

Hannibal was still in the dark on what Will hoped to gain from his new employer, since, as a vampire, he was now free to pursue whatever he wished. Will had expressed no love for his gift to divine killers’ motives, and it was apparent that his newfound bloodlust made crime scenes a uniquely traumatic ordeal. But Will had been dead-set on taking the job, and Hannibal was hardly capable of denying Will anything.

So, in lieu of a clean bill of mental health, Hannibal had countered Jack’s request with the offer to provide Will with regular therapy, increasing their sessions to thrice weekly, in order to provide Will with ‘ongoing emotional and psychological stability.’ Begrudgingly, Jack had agreed. Hannibal was utterly pleased with the outcome, even if Will was less than happy that their arrangement was now officially entwined with his role in the FBI. But seeing as it kept him fed, and therefore relatively level-headed during his first month on the job, Will had kept his complaints mostly to himself.

Something Hannibal himself tried to emulate as he felt the sweet, sharp pain of Will’s fangs pierce the flesh of his forearm.

Will moaned as his lips sealed over the bite, letting the blood pulse freely into his mouth before swallowing. Will was perched at the desk while Hannibal stood behind him, a respectable distance away, gripping the back of his chair for stability. Meanwhile, Hannibal was internally fighting the urge to sink his fingers into Will’s hair and flat-out begging him to _suck_.

Will had taken to making himself at home in Hannibal’s office during his appointments. Hannibal, ever eager for Will to feel closer to him, had no problem with Will’s disregard for professional boundaries, outside of the fact that the disregard now occurred entirely within his office. After their last informal encounter, Will had politely refused further invitations back to Hannibal’s home, wanting to “keep things professional,” willfully ignoring the truth that their arrangement was anything but.

 _No matter,_ Hannibal thought confidently as the enticing aroma of honey wafted around him. He reassured himself that he could play the consummate professional for as long as was necessary. Will’s desires weren’t exactly well-hidden, and they were never more palpable than when he was feeding. When Will’s need finally outweighed his ability to repress, Hannibal would be there, ready to offer everything and innocent of the overt manipulation Will would be quick to accuse of him.

As Will’s tongue brushed his skin, lapping up droplets of blood, Hannibal bit back whispering his name, his breath hitching when Will pulled off his arm completely.

“Thank you,” Will said, casting a quick, appreciative glance up to Hannibal as his fangs withdrew, eyes brightening back to blue.

He caught a brief glimpse of Hannibal’s satisfaction, something Hannibal could not be bothered to hide, as Will had grown used to letting it pass unacknowledged. Will was usually focused on curbing his own post-feeding gratification. But today, his gaze lingered on Hannibal, longing and lustful, before returning his attention to the books spread out on the desk before him.

That look had only lasted a fraction of a second, but Hannibal did not need Will’s empathy to see that his vampiric appetite had not been wholly slaked.

“This angel-maker,” Hannibal said, clearing his throat and rolling his sleeve back down, his puncture wounds already healing. They had begun the appointment, as they often did now, with Hannibal swallowing a few droplets of Will’s blood so they could proceed without worry. Hannibal had not been so careless as to disarm the system that would alert the authorities to falsified evidence against Will, should he be rendered unable to access his phone. Not yet, at least. “You believe he was some kind of prophet?”

Will collected a stray droplet of blood along his lips, absently licking his thumb clean as Hannibal watched with a silent jealousy.

“Maybe?” Will picked up one of the thinner books that Hannibal had already completed translating and annotating. “Or a psychic? Everyone he killed, except for himself…they were depraved. He had no way of knowing that, and yet somehow he _knew_.”

Hannibal crossed his arms and turned around, leaning against the desk, paying more attention to Will than the pages he was flipping through. “Perhaps he was like you.”

Will shook his head. “He wasn’t a vampire. He had a tumour.”

“I meant empathic,” Hannibal countered.

Will crooked his neck upwards. “That’s not how it works. Even now, I can’t just look at a stranger and know they’re a con-artist or a rapist or a murderer. I can tell if someone’s angry enough that they might kill. But this guy…he saw into their minds. Into their…“

Will caught himself, seeming concerned at what he’d nearly voiced.

Hannibal tilted his head. “What were you going to say?”

Twisting his mouth, Will dropped his gaze. Heat rose to his cheeks.

“Soul.” He huffed, embarrassed. “He could see into their souls.”

Hannibal scanned Will’s face, dropping his hands to his side and clutching the edge of the desk, tapping his fingers. “Have you been giving the concept some thought, Will?”

Will scoffed. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“And where do deliberations on the soul lead you?”

Will paused for a beat. “Wondering if I’d caught him before he’d killed himself, what he would’ve seen when he looked into mine.” He bit his lip. “Whether he would have seen anything at all.”

Unable to hide the amusement in his tone, Hannibal cocked an eyebrow. “You’re concerned you might not have a soul.”

Will grumbled, annoyed at Hannibal’s smugness.

“If I did, I don’t anymore. Not according to these.” He slammed the book shut and slumped back into the chair. “Creature of darkness. Spawn of hell. Abomination. The people who wrote these may have wildly differing opinions on what I can do, but they came to a pretty definitive consensus on what I am. A _soulless beast_.”

Will punctuated every syllable of his last sentence, swiveling his head and gazing blankly up at Hannibal.

“Can’t say I blame them.” He chuckled darkly as he gave Hannibal a brisk once-over. “I don’t even know what I believe anymore. But if there is a God judging me, my friendship with you can’t be helping my case.”

Hannibal steadied his fingers on the desk. After weeks of emotional distancing, Hannibal was ecstatic with Will’s willingness to label their relationship. Of course, friendship was far too simplistic a concept to encompass what Hannibal wanted from Will, but for now, he would take it.

“Will,” Hannibal said carefully, folding his hands over his lap. “You have described to me, in resplendent detail, how you are able to reconstruct the thinking of a killer.”

“Which is infinitely easier, now that I am one,” Will interjected flatly. “And with you in my head all the time.”

Hannibal grinned, always pleased to be reminded that, of all the mindsets he could potentially absorb, Will repeatedly chose his. “But you are also quick to identify with the perspective of their victims, and suffer in imagining their pain. Despite the anguish the use of your gift brings, you have volunteered to continue doing so.”

“It’s not volunteering if I don’t have a choice,” Will sneered. “You don’t know the whole story.”

Hannibal knew better than to counter by asking for it. Like his desires, Will was actively holding back on revealing certain truths. But Hannibal was not worried. In time, Will would confide in him. There was no need to rush.

“Regardless, you seek justice and you save lives; acts that conventional human morality would have us believe are noble in nature.” Hannibal’s tone conveyed his divergent opinion without him having to voice it. “Yet you still fear that God may abandon you.”

“Everyone else has,” Will shrugged. “Why wouldn’t God?”

Hannibal caught himself before uttering that _he_ would never abandon Will, but one glance from the younger man told him that the sentiment had been inferred regardless. As expected, it did not seem to bring Will the comfort Hannibal had instinctually hoped.

After a moment, Hannibal held out his hand. “Come with me.”

Will snorted. “We’ve done this one before. I have enough ancient tomes to sift through already.”

“No more books,” Hannibal reassured him, retracting his hand and pushing himself off the desk. He strode over to the patient’s entrance and waited for Will, who was eying him warily. “Think of it as a field trip.”

Will said nothing, but reluctantly rose out of the chair, following Hannibal’s lead.

Half an hour later, on the outskirts of town, Hannibal pushed open a thick, heavy wooden door. It gave off a low, angry creak, allowing both he and Will entrance into the remains of a small church.

“Speaking of God abandoning things…” Will joked as he took a moment to look around.

Hannibal smirked, turning around to casually saunter up the aisle, signalling Will to follow.

The church was a narrow, run-down wooden structure, with many of the pews broken and most of its stain-glass windows shattered. One of the wooden beams, which acted as a pillar underneath an arch, had broken off at some point and lay haphazardly across the aisle. Looking skyward, one could see that it wouldn’t take much for the sharp cathedral ceiling to cave in. There was little wonder why several signs outside the church had warned off anyone from entering in bold red capital letters.

"I hope this isn’t another one of your little experiments,” Will said, tucking his hands in his pockets as he casually weaved his way through the obstacle course of broken furniture. “You’ve already had your fun, proving religious symbols don’t hurt me. I’m not really in the mood for trying shots of holy water.”

“As appealing as I find that notion, I would expect it to yield similar results.” Hannibal deliberated, stepping over the broken pillar without missing a beat. “Holy water is a mundane substance ascribed with religious importance by man. As are the materials used to shape a crucifix. Or build this church. If God truly despised your existence, there are non-faith-based means of making that clear.”

Will hopped up on the pillar, looking above. “Like the sun?”

Hannibal paused, turning his head slightly, eyebrow raised. “Perhaps.”

Will grinned, pleased his point had been taken. He casually stepped down, and the second his feet hit the carpet, he sped around, arriving in front of Hannibal.

“Why are we here, Hannibal?” Will’s tone was more curious than annoyed, but he crossed his arms all the same. “I doubt you’re trying to get me to accept Jesus Christ as my lord and saviour.”

Hannibal blinked, taking in the shimmer that surrounded Will now. As the moonlight filtered in from the cracked window above the church altar, it caught in the particles of dust Will’s motion had stirred, adding an enchanted quality to his already ethereal loveliness.

“I come here, from time to time,” Hannibal said, indicating to the pew near the front. “I sit there, and I wait.”

Will furrowed his brows, looking behind him. It was apparent he had a snarky retort, but he stayed silent, awaiting further explanation.

“Did you hear of the church collapse last month in Georgia?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head. “I collect church collapses, you see. This one was near perfect. Seventeen members of a Southern Baptist youth outreach program were crushed to death on a Tuesday evening. Evidently, God did not feel that his followers, or they souls they hoped to reach, were worth saving.”

Will looked as lost as ever.

“Man has no right to judge who I am, or what I do.” Hannibal explained. “God, who will gladly drop a place of worship on his most fervent enthusiasts, is unlikely to condemn me when my actions pale in comparison. However, on the off-chance my beliefs are misguided, I like to offer God the opportunity to communicate disapproval.”

Realization dawned on Will’s face. After a moment, he burst into a hearty laugh. “You come here to play chicken with The Lord?”

Hannibal was unfazed by Will’s ridicule. “If that’s how it’s taken, God has not yet called my bluff.”

Still laughing, Will sauntered away, casually climbing the steps and circling the altar.

“Wow, you’re really tempting fate now, huh?” Will derided, leaning against the front of the altar, back propped against the edge, putting his body on display as if it was a challenge.  “Bringing a vampire here, with _you_ , must be going all-in.”

Hannibal couldn’t help himself. “I can imagine a few ways we could still up the ante.”

Will snorted but ignored the innuendo. “Have you considered that if this roof doesn’t collapse tonight, it’s not because God doesn’t hate us, but because God doesn’t care?”

Pursing his lips, Hannibal climbed the steps to reach Will. “If that’s what you believe, one wonders why the status of your soul matters to you at all.”

Will dropped his head, letting out a heavy sigh. His voice lowered to a near-whisper. “Apathy can be more hurtful than spite.”

Hannibal hesitated, allowing the words to settle between them. He knew what was troubling Will; they’d spoken about it briefly weeks ago, but the subject had been quickly dropped. His projections about God’s indifference were textbook, but now Hannibal was free to openly make the connection.

“Abandonment can be more damaging than malevolence.” Hannibal said, genuine in his sympathy. “Especially from those responsible for our creation.”

Will folded in on himself, nodding.

“I used to dream about meeting her. Stumbling into her on the street or bumping into her at the store. Not enough of a reunion to lead to a reconnection or anything; I grew out of wanting that. But I just wanted enough time to look into her eyes and see…”

As Will trailed off, his presence dimmed. With such a robust imagination, simply suggesting a scenario could be as overpowering to Will’s mental state as a full-blown hallucination. Tears welled in Will’s eyes, and Hannibal understood that Will was experiencing whatever fantasy he had been in the middle of recounting.

Not wishing to allow Will to stray too far down this path, not while they were in the middle of their conversation, Hannibal prodded him gently. “See what, Will?”

“That it wasn’t my fault,” Will confessed, eyes off in the distance. “That my mom leaving had nothing to do with my being a freak. Maybe if I could empathize with her, for a moment, I could finally move on. Maybe she was the one who was damaged.”

He turned away, wiping his eyes and laughing nervously.

“I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. With my luck, you’ll find her and serve her at your next dinner party.”

Hannibal frowned, not rising to the bait. “You are in the FBI now. It shouldn’t be hard for you to track her down on your own.”

“She’s always known how to get in touch. My dad would send her a postcard every time we moved, and he’s not someone who'd waste money on stamps. She’s never bothered.” Will shrugged. “Besides, as ‘creators’ go, she’s not the one I’m worried about.”

Hannibal’s breath stilled as he weighed his options. He could continue withholding questions he knew Will didn’t want to answer, or he could risk further distancing by Will if he took this opening.

He chanced it. “You mean the vampire that turned you.”

Will shot a glare of warning Hannibal’s way, but after a moment’s consideration, he nodded briskly.

“You’ve said you don’t know how you were turned,” Hannibal noted cautiously. “Do you at least know who turned you?”

“I don’t have a name.” Will heaved out a sigh and crossed his arms. “But yeah, I know who it was. We talked a bit before….”

Hannibal allowed Will his elusiveness. “But you haven’t spoke since.”

Will shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “Nope. No vampire training wheels for Will. I thought…” He paused, carefully assessing his phrasing. “It’s possible I was alone in knowing what happened.”

Hannibal immediately seized on that tiny piece of information; that the vampire did not have to be an active participant in turning their offspring. “But whoever it is must’ve known _something_ , for you to have their blood in your system.”

Suddenly, Will looked caught. He swallowed, searching Hannibal’s eyes for any sign that his story wouldn’t be used against him.

“I have no intention of ever abandoning you,” Hannibal offered quickly. “Even if I were to turn. But so long as our arrangement continues, it will always be a risk. You can’t protect the truth from me forever.”

“It’s the world I have to protect from you,” Will countered, his voice low and rough. “I can’t let you loose with this much power. Imagine; you, as a _vampire_. Christ, you already have a God-complex.”

“Do you not see?” Hannibal pleaded, breaching their personal boundaries for the first time in a month, casting off his ill-fitting caution. He grabbed the edge of the altar on either side of Will, careful not to touch as he drank in his scent. “When I spoke before of your ability to empathize with both killers and victims, it was not to make the case that you have the capacity for both good and evil. You are outside of such trivial considerations. You are above that. Beyond that. You are the first creature I’ve encountered who I recognize as my superior. That would not change, even if I were elevated, as you have been. It’s laughable you would worry about your soul in the eyes of God, because you are a deity unto yourself.”

He sank to his knees.

“And I will always be your humble servant.”

Will stared down at him, trembling with both fear and lust. The halo of moonlight above almost blinded Hannibal to the rising veins that threatened to pulsate around Will’s eyes. Weeks of restraint, of holding back on taking _everything_ he desired, had clearly brought Will to something of a breaking point. His breathing became shallow, and he gripped the edge of the altar, the wood splintering under his strength. His fingers brushing against Hannibal’s, Will anxiously licked his lips.

“You’re not capable of humility.” Will swallowed. “Even offering submission is a power play.”

“Insightful, as always.” Perhaps being deemed ‘innocent of manipulation’ was too lofty a goal for Hannibal Lecter. He tried a different tack. “Does that mean you don’t want it?”

He did not bother to point out the rapidly growing bulge now inches from his face.

Will closed his eyes and dropped his head, his hair tousling forward across his forehead, brown curls glistening in the moonlight.

“No.”

Hannibal slid his right hand along the altar, across Will’s thigh and firmly cupped the hardness before him. Will let out a soft gasp, but didn’t resist.

“May I?” Hannibal asked.

Will bit his lip, his eyes fluttering open.

“Please.”

The plea was all Hannibal needed to shuck off restraint entirely.

His hands immediately sought Will’s belt, undoing the notches deftly and pulling the leather strap free. Flicking open the button in Will’s jeans, Hannibal tugged down his fly and pulled his shirt free. He gripped hipbones, fingers digging into Will’s ass through denim, and leaned forward, nose against the smooth flesh of Will’s abdomen. Inhaling deeply, Hannibal savoured the scent of sweet honey blended into a sensuous, masculine musk.

Grateful for the permission to again express his devotion physically, Hannibal pressed soft, worshipful kisses against the skin beneath Will’s belly, drawing a barely audible shudder from above him. Running his hands up along the sides of Will’s exposed torso as he lavished affection on the tender flesh, he eventually hooked his fingers into the band of Will’s boxers, tugging the front down just enough to expose Will’s length in the opening of his jeans. He gingerly reached inside to pull Will’s firm, thick cock free, and he felt his own stir as he finally eyed the flush, pink head he’d waited an eternity to see again.

Will gasped and gritted his teeth as Hannibal wrapped his hand around him. Stroking slowly, running his thumb along the slit to find Will already leaking, Hannibal cast his gaze back upwards and saw that Will’s features had settled, his eyes a deep crimson and his fangs plainly bared. This sight only urged Hannibal on, the pace of his strokes increasing as he felt Will’s muscles tense beneath him.

“Fucking hell,” Will cried out when Hannibal finally sank his mouth around him, throwing his head back when he felt himself buried in the soft warmth and letting out a deep groan as he hit the back of Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal began bobbing his head enthusiastically, worshipfully, taking Will in again and again, running his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Will’s cock and swirling the head every few motions before sinking back down.

Hannibal worked with fervour to bring Will the relief he so desperately needed, ignoring his own pleasure entirely for the sake of his better. All the hard grunts and silky moans Will let tumble from his lips were divine affirmations, more fulfilling for Hannibal than any physical gratification could ever be. When Will’s hand graced the side of his face, cupping his hollowed cheeks, Hannibal hummed in supplication, sending waves of vibration along Will’s shaft and pushing him over the edge.

“Oh god!” Will groaned as he filled Hannibal’s mouth with hot liquid, the taste of which nearly sent Hannibal careening off into his own freefall. But ever the master of himself, Hannibal clamped down on his orgasm, hoping to make the sensation last and instead focusing his energy on pumping Will through his release. When Will was spent, and Hannibal had fully basked in the rich, heavenly flavour he’d fantasized about savouring since he’d first laid eyes on Will, he finally swallowed, practically purring as the liquid trickled down his throat.

“The power you feel now? The intoxicating scent of dominance seeping through your pores? Never forget you are always free to claim it.” Hannibal licked his lips clean, nuzzling the hair above Will’s softening cock. “All you must do to unleash your desires is to simply let go.”

He cast a glance skywards, expecting a blissed out expression looking down at him. But instead of afterglow, Hannibal was met with Will’s savagery, eyes as piercing red and hungry as ever. The hand against his face slipped away, and before Hannibal realized it, Will’s vice-like grip had closed around his throat.

Suddenly Hannibal was torn off his knees, and the next thing he knew, he was being slammed hard against a wall off to the side of the altar. Will clawed at his shirt, exposing his neck, and with little warning, sunk his fangs directly into Hannibal’s jugular. Hannibal cried out, the shock mingling with his already peaked arousal, and he instinctually clutched at Will’s shoulders as the beast that had been brought forth drank him down.

“ _Will_ ,” Hannibal muttered dreamily as Will ground against him, his thigh pressed up against Hannibal’s throbbing length, providing a delicious friction that counterbalanced the delightfully sharp pain and raw suction pulling at his neck. 

Normally, with Will’s miraculous blood in his system, Hannibal felt immune to the effects of being drained. But the speed with which Will was drinking him outpaced Hannibal’s temporarily enhanced ability to regenerate blood. It did not take long for the pleasure Hannibal derived from the dual sensations to feel distant and dull as he became light-headed with the remarkably rapid blood-loss. He tried to call out Will’s name again, but he wasn’t even sure if the word passed over his lips.

Just as he thought he was going to pass out, Hannibal became aware of the sudden loss of pressure on his neck. What followed was a wave of pleasure so intense that he felt his body collapse, a strange sensation when it was not accompanied with a loud, hard thud on the ground. His orgasm was less a climax than it was a plateau, contentment buzzing through him evenly, but gradually amplified louder as his blood replenished and consciousness returned to him in full.

When he finally had control of his motor functions, he opened his eyes to find Will kneeling at his feet, palm braced against his chest to hold him against the wall. The most surreal aspect, however, was the mischievous glare Will managed while his mouth was still wrapped around Hannibal’s cock.

As Will sucked and nibbled at his foreskin, sending jolts of sharp pleasure-bordering-on-pain through Hannibal’s system, red eyes melted back to their signature blue. Hannibal distantly wondered if Will had finally uncoupled the simultaneous expression of his vampire eyes and fangs, but as he didn’t seem to be suffering from any ill-placed puncture wounds, he didn’t bother to ask. He simply allowed himself to revel in the attention Will was lavishing on him, giving himself over to pure hedonistic delight, sliding to the floor when vampire strength was no longer holding him up.

Will pulled his mouth off with a loud pop, rocking forward on his knees to catch Hannibal’s lips with his own. His tongue plunged into Hannibal’s mouth, the heady mix of Hannibal’s own blood and semen mingling with the aftertaste of Will. Hannibal brought a hand up to tangle in Will’s curls, almost losing himself to the million lovely sensations pulling him every which way. But, first and foremost, Hannibal clung onto his joy at Will having taken control of his pleasure.

“Pretty hypocritical for you to lecture me on 'letting go' when you were holding back,” Will teased when he finally broke the kiss.

Hannibal was entirely spent and out of clever retorts. Or words of admiration. Or declarations of undying devotion. Will had rendered him speechless.

He took what little energy he had and pulled Will to him, holding him close and allowing him to curl up against his chest as he stroked his side affectionately.

It was only then they both noticed the chunks of wood. Broken planks were scattered on and around the altar, amidst crumbling plaster and flakes of dust still falling from the rafters. If a judgement had finally been passed on Hannibal and Will’s heretical union, God had acted a moment too late.

Hannibal tensed slightly, bracing for Will’s impending melancholy. If not over their evidently damned souls, then from the characteristic self-flagellation Will adopted every time he gave in to his baser needs. If history was any indication, it would be seconds before Will abandoned him in the crumbling ruins of the church.  

Instead, Will met the realization with a burst of laughter. After evaluating it's authenticity, Hannibal joined in.

Craning his neck up Hannibal’s chest, Will shook his head at the bloody mess he’d made, lazily lapping up the red beads still dripping from Hannibal’s healed neck. Finally, Will was satisfied and satiated, settling into Hannibal’s warm embrace with no clear intent to move.

“I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt this…” Will sighed, in no hurry to find the word. “Content.”

Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Will’s head, laying his cheek in the damp nest of curls.

“Truth be told, neither do I.”

* * *

 

 _Gonna be late for tonight._  
_New crime scene._  
_Don’t know when I’ll be done, but I’ll definitely need therapy after. And a stiff drink._  
_Sorry._

 _Have no worries, dear Will. Pay no attention to the hour; you are welcome to let yourself into my home whenever you are free.  
_ _Do not worry about disturbing me. I will be waiting._

* * *

 

By dawn the following day, however, Will had not found his way into Hannibal’s home.

Even though Hannibal had forsaken sleep waiting up, he wondered if Will had chosen to indulge and instead headed to his own home after the preliminary investigation. At noon, he sent Will two texts, politely reminding him of his missed appointment and offering an opening that day, which he had made possible by clearing his afternoon schedule. By nightfall, when he had not received a response to any of his several messages or voice mails, Hannibal took it upon himself to drive down to Quantico to remind Will of his obligations.

But Will was nowhere to be found. Not in the forensics lab, nor his office or his lecture hall. So Hannibal trekked out to Will’s home in Virginia, and discovered only a pack of hungry dogs begging to be let out of the house. Upon entering, it became obvious that Will had not come home the night before. And although Hannibal nodded off a few times while waiting on Will’s porch, he felt confident that Will did not come home that night either.

Worry was a foreign concept to Hannibal, but he supposed the restlessness he felt at Will’s unexplained absence qualified as concern. Without being able to put a finger on exactly how he knew, Hannibal was sure that wherever Will was, he was still alive. But while his worries never strayed too far into the catastrophic, Hannibal was nevertheless compelled to find comfort in Will’s presence as soon as humanly possible.

His first instinct was to stay put until Will returned. His second instinct was to return to his own home and wait for Will there. Both actions were logical and yet neither seemed proactive enough. Although he had promised to keep his interaction with Will’s new coworkers to a minimum, he made a casual call to Jack Crawford, providing vague, reassuring details about Will’s mental stability and asking how he was faring in the field.

“He’s doing great, Dr. Lecter. I’ve never had another profiler on my staff who’s made even half the connections he comes up with. He’s ideal for this kind of work, even if he’s not crazy about doing it. Although, I will hand it to you; you were right to keep his therapy ongoing. It’s a good thing you can be there to help him… _bounce back_ …from crime scenes, especially like the one we found the other day.”

Hannibal adjusted his tone to sound as if he was in the know. “Yes, exposure to something like that can be rather psychologically taxing. It’s vital Will has methods to cope.”

“Well, whatever breathing exercise or meditation technique you’re teaching him seems to be working.  He looked pretty close to a breakdown when we got on the scene, and I won’t lie; I was worried. But he walked away from it completely fine. Zen-like, almost. Might have to book an appointment myself one of these days.”

“Oh, nothing so formal, I hope. Some day soon, I’d love to have you and your wife for dinner.”

If anything, the call only raised Hannibal’s alarm over Will’s unknown whereabouts. ‘Zen-like’ was hardly a descriptor he would ever use for Will, outside of a few instances when he’d been very recently fed. However, there was little Hannibal could do to find him without further information or the time to tear the city apart, brick by brick.

Which was not entirely out of the question.

Making sure the dogs were taken care of and leaving a short handwritten note for Will, Hannibal headed into his office. To avoid raising suspicions, he resolved to see only the patients he absolutely needed to, the ones who would become a problem if he cancelled last minute, before starting the weekend early and beginning the next phase of his search.

One such patient was Franklyn Froideveaux, a neurotic personality type, prone to sycophantism and holding a particularly obvious obsession with the idea of Hannibal's companionship.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, more upset than annoyed.

“Of course not, Franklyn,” Hannibal replied, his attention snapping back from his distant thoughts. “I was merely listening with intent. You must stop projecting your insecurities onto others.”

Franklyn gave him a discerning glance before collapsing into a blubbering mess. “I _do_ do that, don’t I? My second wife complained about that all the time, but I thought she was just with me for my money. Oh God, no wonder I’m so alone!”

Hannibal glanced over to the table beside Franklyn’s chair and noticed that his tissue box was empty, knocked over beside a huge heap of used, discarded tissues. He winced at the untidiness, but reluctantly grabbed the full box beside him, leaning forward to hand it across the space between them.

“You’re not alone Franklyn.” Hannibal offered, easily disguising his irritation with the endless stream of platitudes he constantly provided the adult man. “You have me to help guide you to your best self.”

From beneath tears, Franklyn nodded and shuffled forward to the edge of his chair, reaching out to take the tissues.

Seconds before his hand grasped the box, however, there was a loud burst of motion, a quick cracking sound and a heavy, dull thud. The next thing Hannibal knew, Franklyn was laying on the ground, eyes bulging and neck twisted askew. He was, without question, dead.

“Did no one ever tell you that it’s rude to lie?”

Instinctively, Hannibal froze for a brief moment, taking in the situation. Luckily, he was rather adept at thinking on his feet.

“Will,” he said eagerly, rising slowly, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know.” Will said. “I read your note.”

Hannibal was quick to observe that, despite his dramatic entrance, Will was expressionless, his tone flat. As pleased as Hannibal was to see Will, a feeling in no way muted by the dead body laying between them, he sensed danger, chosing to proceed with caution.

“Is everything alright?” Hannibal chanced, not daring to cross the space between them yet.

Will sighed. “Fine, especially now that I’ve put an end to his incessant whining.”

“With all honesty, I share your relief,” Hannibal conceded, casting a disparaging glance downward. “This does burden me with a few minor inconveniences, but no matter. Tell me, what has been keeping you occupied these last few days?”

“Taking your advice.” Will did smile then, a twisted, self-satisfied little grin as he slowly closed the space between them. “ _Letting go_. I’ve been embracing my true nature, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering what exactly that might entail. “I’m glad to hear it. Especially after learning about your near breakdown at the latest crime scene.”

A look of confusion passed over Will’s features, as if he was trying to recall a distant memory. Eventually, realization dawned on him.

“Oh, _that_. Last of the kids who killed me, right.” Will waved his hand, his tone glib. “Sorry, the last few days have been a whirlwind. It’s hard to remember something so tedious.”

Hannibal blanched. More revelatory than Will letting slip a detail about his vampire transition was his casual dismissal of it. Suddenly, Hannibal was intensely aware that, despite his signature aroma, the person in front of him was not the Will Graham he knew.

“May I ask you to try?” Hannibal folded his hands, showing deference. “If you recall, you wished to speak with me afterwards. I will admit, I’m still rather curious.”

“Oh, I realized the dead kid, all the kids, had been gift-wrapped for me.” Will leaned against the arm of the chair, sounding disinterested. “They weren’t warnings or taunts. It’s all been one big _apology_. You might have appreciated it, come to think of it. Although, it wasn’t particularly subtle; kid on his knees, head bowed, heart in his hands...the messenger doesn’t have your artistry.”

As interested as Hannibal was at dissecting that particular critique, more important questions loomed. “And who is the messenger?”

Will shrugged. “Don’t care.”

Hannibal raised a quizzical brow. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Believe what you want.” Will said, before taking a moment to consider. “Actually, if I do bump in to them, I suppose the appropriate thing to do would be to thank them. Without those crime scenes, I’m not sure I would’ve ever had my epiphany.”

“Oh?” Hannibal suddenly felt threatened in an entirely new way; one that had nothing to do with self-preservation. “Please feel free to share the revelation this sub-par artiste has inspired.”

Will caught Hannibal’s derisive tone, and his reaction resembled amusement.

“Well, when I figured it out, I _guess_ I was upset.” Will snorted, as if the very notion was ridiculous. “My killers had been killed for me, and somehow  _I_ felt bad about it! Guilt, shame, despair; the whole Rolodex of useless human emotions. I’d ask if you know what I meant, but we both know you never have. And then I wondered how I could be a vampire and have possibly absorbed _so much_ of your personality, yet still had to suffer that pain. I started searching for a way to mimic you and shut it off. And then?” Will snapped his fingers. “Off it went.”

Will leapt off the arm of the chair, jumping over Franklyn’s body and holding his arms outward in flagrant boastfulness.

“I’m finally free to be the monster you’ve always told me I could be.” Will’s smile was large and blatantly insincere. But after a moment of Hannibal assessing it, internally processing everything Will had just told him and wondering if it was too good to be true, the smile melted away. “Too bad you've been the one standing in my way.”

Hannibal was taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh please,” Will rolled his eyes. “Hannibal, you never wanted _this_. I know you think you did, but you were too obsessed with your empathic little murder puppy to ever risk helping me grow into a wolf.”

Offended, Hannibal’s brow furrowed. “My only hope has been to guide you along the path that leads to this.”

“Your only hope was to keep me leashed,” Will countered darkly. “My empathy kept me bound to you, and you’ve been exploiting that at every turn. But I’ve fed on dozens of people over the past two days. I’ve killed and killed and felt _nothing_. You were right; I am outside the bounds of human considerations. At least, I am now. Which is unfortunate for you, I suppose, because it means I don’t need you anymore.”

Hannibal sucked in a sharp breath, standing tall and taking a step back, mirroring Will’s step forward. “If that's true, why bother seeking me out at all?”

“I wanted to see the look on your face,” Will replied nonchalantly, taking another predatory step forward and eying Hannibal carefully. “Gotta say; I don't feel particularly satisfied. Guess that’s the compromise you make when you flick off your soul.”

Hannibal tried to appeal to Will’s pragmatism. “I have not yet disabled the program that would implicate you in my murders. If I die, you will be exposed.”

Will chuckled, his eyes darkening and fangs extending as he did. The sight was a jarring aberration of his rare displays of humour. “The beauty of this situation is I truly don’t give a fuck.”

In a move that echoed their last encounter, Will snatched Hannibal up with impossible speed. This time, however, Will held nothing back. He showed absolutely no consideration for Hannibal's well-being, slamming him into the wall so hard that Hannibal felt several bones break. Ripping aside Hannibal’s shirt with abandon, Will recklessly sank his teeth into Hannibal’s neck, tearing a chunk of flesh so large that he had to stop to spit it out. Will's fangs mauled the gaping wound and he drank without a care, and Hannibal noted the distinct absence of arousal from either of them as he screamed and spasmed and felt himself go into shock.

The last thing Hannibal thought as the world faded to black was that he finally understood what it meant to feel helpless.  


	7. Chapter 7

Jack was a man of few words as he ushered Will beyond the barricades. Hell, earlier on the phone, he’d barely said anything beyond telling Will to find someone to take over his lecture that night. When the rounded the final stretch of trees, Jack stood at the edge of the playground and whistled. On seeing Will, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and moved to clear the scene. They all knew the drill by now.

Price passed by Will with an awkward but professional nod. Zeller didn’t even bother to make eye contact, respectful enough not to let his personal resentment towards Will show today. Beverly was the only one who spoke to him at all, ignoring the glare Jack leveled at her for impeding Will’s assessment, even momentarily.

“That list of wealthy runaways you had us put together came in handy,” she said. “Price didn’t even have to run the prints for us to ID him as Jeremy Millstone.”

“California?” Will pretended to recall, trying to appear as if he hadn’t immediately recognized his picture when he’d first looked through the dossier. Like he hadn’t been anticipating Jeremy’s body turning up every day for the last month. He affected a false detachment. “Bet his tech-billionaire father never expected him to wind up in Baltimore.”

But Beverly wasn’t in the mood to cater to Will’s acerbic disposition. “Listen, I know you like to pretend this stuff doesn’t get to you, but I see you.”

Instinctually, Will dropped his gaze to the ground.

“I know it does.” She continued, ducking down to catch his eyes. She wasn’t going to let him play the antisocial card to avoid this conversation. “But this is personal for you. Don’t know how, but it’s why you let Jack talk you into joining our team. So you could get another crack at catching this monster.”

“Beverly,” Will began, his voice already wavering. But she cut him off.

“So you _should_ go do your thing.” She crossed her arms confidently. “But you should also know that this is rougher than anything else this guy has left us. If you feel like talking about it, I’m here. And if not, I’m still here. Because either way, after this, I could really fucking use a beer.”

Despite himself, Will laughed. For a moment, the mind-numbing dread eased off, enough for him to recalibrate his emotions. Beverly often had that effect on him. She seemed to be the only one, besides Hannibal, who bothered to climb the walls he constructed to keep people out. And she was definitely the only one whose motivations towards him were pure. As far as Will was concerned, Beverly had been the only good thing about taking the job.

He nodded, and she grasped his shoulder in solidarity before joining the others on the other side of the treeline. But one look back to Jack, who masked his concern at Beverly’s overheard sentiments with an expression of stern resignation, and that was all Will needed for his mood to plunge from a light uneasiness to downright trepidation. He turned, crossing the playground alone.

As Will passed the jungle gym, he caught a whiff of blood on the air. He wasn’t even hungry, but he so emotionally unstable that he had to fight back his fangs from slipping forth. He closed his eyes, calling on Hannibal’s sense of calm and unflinching determination, traits still circulating in his bloodstream thanks to the free-flowing exchange of fluids in the church two nights back.

With each breath, Will’s anxiety dulled, if not disappearing completely. He truly hadn’t realized how much he’d been trembling until he stopped.

Circling the roundabout, Will tenuously took in Jeremy’s appearance. On his knees, head bowed and hands held out in front of him, holding the heart that had been clearly ripped from his gaping chest cavity. He was badly marked, bruised and scratched all over. The kid was missing a chunk out of the side of his neck, the torn up tissue undoubtedly the work of a vampire. He was also rail-thin, starved within an inch of his life, before that life had been taken from him.

And, sure enough, Will could confirm that this was last kid remaining from the gang who had killed him. He was even wearing the same orange and black Orioles baseball cap he’d had on when he’d beaten Will within an inch of his life.

 _God, he can’t be older than sixteen_ , Will thought upon taking in Jeremy’s lifeless, downcast face.

 _And now, he never will be,_ Hannibal’s voice echoed in his head, unaffected by the raw brutality on display.

Will shook it off. As easy as it would be for most people to let bitterness lead to indifference, Will was not physically able to deny anyone empathy, even those who had wronged him. But as he closed his eyes, allowing the pendulum to drop and sweep away everything before him, he found his empathy working overtime to relate.

Instead of placing him in the mind of the killer, Will woke to find himself in the mind of _his_ killer.

_I’m chained to a wall. Like the others. I can’t escape their screams and their cries. Until they disappear, one by one._

_Sometimes I break, screaming and crying too. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t stop the pain. And there’s so much pain, every day._

_This isn’t what we signed up for._

_I’m starving. I’m only fed enough to stay alive, but it’s a half life. Malnutrition sets in and my brain starts shutting down. When I realize I’m the only one left, I’m barely conscious enough to care. The only pauses in the monotony of my months of anguish are when I’m fed on, because at least then I know I’m still worth something._

_Until one day…_

Will can’t even lift his head to see who’s approaching him. It doesn’t matter anyway; who else would it be?

He feels the unbearable tear at his throat as most of his blood is drained without mercy. He screams and screams, but it falls on deaf ears. Soon after, the shackles on his wrists unlock as his knees hit the ground. A blade is then forcibly placed in his hand.

“Cut open your chest.” A familiar voice echoed throughout the dark chamber. Will casts his weary glance upwards, connecting with eyes identical to his own.

Suddenly, Will is lifted out of the devastated, panicked body. He is no longer helpless on the ground, but standing above Jeremy, indignant with the total disrespect and lack of compliance. Will wipes away the blood on his mouth and kicks the kid hard in the gut.

“You should know this is the only way you’re ever getting out of this room.”

“Make me like you!” The kid screams and Will rolls his eyes, laughing as he kicks him again. “Please! I did everything you wanted me to! I killed for you!”

“You did!” Will is delightfully amused, laughing at the little thing’s tears. “And now, you’ll die for me.”

The kid whimpers and sobs pathetically, any toughness he once possessed thoroughly beaten and drained out of him. “Why?”

Will swoops down, gloved hand gripping the kid’s arm and using the blade, still in his hand, to pierce the cavity between his ribs. The look of utter shock on the Jeremy’s face pleases Will to no end.

“Because we want him to know how _sorry_ we both are,” Will says as he guides Jeremy’s hand upwards to open his chest. “And I’m certainly not ripping _my own_ heart out.”

When the hole in the kid’s chest is big enough, he tosses the knife away. Pulling at ribs, he reaches through the cavity and wraps his hand around the wet, erratically beating muscle. As soon as his gloved fingers make contact, however, Will is once again transported back into Jeremy’s body.

But instead of crouched in shock with a hand in his chest, Will is standing in an empty parking lot, kicking a bloody figure on the ground with four other teenagers.

He circles around, grabbing the tire iron out of Anthony’s hand. He looks to another kid, Robbie, who holds up the guy’s wallet and badge, giving him a nod. At which point he lays into the guy’s back without mercy. It doesn’t matter how loudly the man hollers, or how much blood he spits up; Jeremy won’t stop until the job is done.

Eventually, Steve, the oldest kid, kicks the limp body over. The guy is completely wrecked, his glasses cracked, his face bleeding and bruised, scratched all to hell. Dimly, from inside the reconstruction, Will realizes that it’s actually himself he sees laying on the ground.

Through hooded lids, their eyes connect, and an uncomfortable chill runs down his spine.

“I’m a cop,” his doppelganger sputters, blood dribbling from his mouth onto the pavement. His collapsed lung is making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak, but he tries anyway. “Whatever trouble you’re in, I can help you.”

All his buddies chuckle. This curly-haired moron has no idea how useless he really is. If he can’t handle five kids beating the crap out of him, he stands zero chance against the one who sent them after him. He shakes his head and raised the tire iron, ready to bring it down one final time.

At which point, an inhuman blur circles around the group, sending them each flying in every direction. He hits a tree and is knocked out cold. By the time he comes to, the cop and whoever the blur was are both gone.

He and the other guys all start freaking out, accusing each other of letting their mark get away, terrified over what will happen to them if they don’t deliver on the job. Doug, the youngest, reminds Robbie he has the cop’s driver’s license, which has a home address. They jack a car and drive out to some farmhouse in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Trying to creep on the porch, a bunch of dogs sense them coming and start barking like crazy. Peeking in the window, they see the cop lying on a bed in the living room. Somehow he’s able to sleep through the dogs going nuts, and he looks completely fine. Not at all like he’d taken like a million kicks to the stomach and several whacks with a tire iron.

Maybe he’s a super fast healer. They’d certainly seen that before. Whatever, it didn't matter; orders were orders.

The lure the dogs out and sneak inside, shutting the door behind them, ignoring the scratching and snarling that followed. They weren’t here to kill dogs, after all, and it wasn’t like the mutts could snitch on them.

He signals the others to grab an arm or leg while he climbs the bed, straddling the cop’s chest, amazed when his weight shifting the mattress doesn’t wake the guy. However, snatching his pillow is enough to finally disturb the dude’s sleep. The cop has just enough time to look around at everyone holding him down before the pillow is over his face, stifling his yells.

The cop struggles as he’s smothered, taking _way too damn lon_ g to die. Whenever the writhing stops and the gang relaxes, the dude takes another gasp of air and he has to be smothered all over again. Finally, after ten solid minutes of no movement whatsoever, the pillow is removed completely to reveal glassy blue eyes. Quick healing doesn’t mean shit if you still need to breathe.  

Looking down at the detective’s dead face, he allows himself a moment of relief. Sure, the work isn’t over yet; they still have to bury the body. But they’ve done it. They’ve carried out their orders. This fuck up isn’t going to cost them their lives.

Suddenly Will’s back in the darkened room with his hand around Jeremy’s heart, laughing gleefully as he rips the organ free.

He tosses it to another faceless boy behind him, licking his bloody gloves clean.

“You know what to do. Playground, posing, etcetera…” He pauses. “Make it regretful, but in a bold, _fun_ way. After all, we’re competing with the Chesapeake Ripper for his attention.”

Will gasped for air as he returned to himself.

Cheeks streaming with tears, he collapsed to his knees. From the ground, he cast his gaze upwards, meeting the sunken eyes of his now-dead killer. He broke into sobs, his emotions already fractured into a thousand tiny pieces.

Jeremy had been brutalized. All the boys had suffered _so much_ and Will couldn’t take it. It didn’t matter that they had died for killing him; Will was still entirely overwhelmed with their months of pain and suffering. With their insurmountable feelings of betrayal when their time had come to die.

And yet, another part of Will couldn’t help but revel in their anguish. He didn’t know if it was his own inner vampire that was delighting in this, or if he was echoing the emotions of Jeremy’s killer. But it didn’t matter, because he was unable to escape feeling utter joy at the depravity in their punishment.

Finally, Hannibal’s voice made its presence known, appreciating the lengths that this other vampire had gone to communicate their regrets. Suggesting that Will might opt to feel a sense of justice; the cruelty of his death and subsequent transition had finally been atoned for, in full.

But Will, the man, the cop, the empath, just felt sick. Having nothing else in his stomach, he gagged bile.

It was too much. The pain and the delight and the righteousness and the suffocating guilt was overloading Will’s empathy and he was starting to break down. Compounding this was the trauma of reliving his murder through the eyes of his killer, something he’d actively resisted since it had happened to him.

He shrivelled up on the ground, clutching at his face and hyperventilating. But it didn’t matter how desperately Will gasped for air; he could hardly breathe.

His was drowning in his own blood again. He was suffocating beneath the pillow, over and over and over. He was six feet underground, desperately clawing his way to the surface with fresh dirt in his lungs.

He was in a black hole of despair and the light from Hannibal’s sense of calm couldn’t reach him.

He needed it to stop feeling like this.

_Like I was denied a kill that was rightfully mine._

He needed to fucking stop feeling altogether.  

 _I_ _feel him ripping my heart out of my chest, again and again and again._

All of this was too much for one person to deal with, even him, even a vampire, even an empath.

_Why can’t I escape everyone else’s fear and suffering?_

_First in my victims, now in my killers._

_How is any of this fair?_

He wasn’t the god as Hannibal that believed him to be.

_I_ _s this what the books mean when they say vampires are cursed?_

No he was not omniscient, he didn’t want to be, he couldn’t handle feeling all this at once, he just needed it to stop _._

_Just stop. Stop._

_Stop stop stop._

_Stopstopstopstopstop._

_STOP._

And then, somehow, it stopped.

Will blinked.

For several minutes, that’s all he did.

His breathing slowed and his fists unclenched, dropping away from his face and falling carelessly to his side.

He looked up at the dead kid on display and felt nothing.

Finally, he rose to his feet and brushed the dirt from the playground off his knees. He used his sleeve to wipe away the tears still stinging his face.

Suddenly, his stomach grumbled. He was _starving_.

Jack eventually came over, asking what he’d seen. Will gave him details about the kid’s death without revealing anything about his own, and Jack seemed satisfied enough with his answers and his demeanor to leave him alone.

Beverly followed shortly after, asking about grabbing a drink. Will’s first instinct was to say yes and simply drink her, but Price and Zeller had apparently invited themselves along and Will figured it was more trouble than it was worth, so he blew her off and headed out on his own.

From that point on, an insatiable appetite was the only thing Will felt at all. And the only thing he cared about was fulfilling his craving for blood. He said whatever was necessary, and did anything he must, but the only things that registered with him were ravenous hunger and drinking until satiation. Anything else between those peaks and valleys of sensation just became background noise.

Until two days later, when his fangs sunk into Hannibal’s neck and the pleasantly familiar blood touched his tongue. 

Entirely on it’s own, Will’s body purred.  _Mine._

It was strange enough to pull Will out of his blind bloodlust for a moment, trying to recall through his haze if anyone else he’d drained had stirred something similar. No such memories came to mind, and he dug his teeth back into Hannibal’s neck, indifferent towards the obvious pain he was inflicting on his former confidante. It wasn’t as if he could taste pain it in the blood anymore. Blood was soothing, fulfilling; it made the hunger pangs disappear. That’s _all_ it did, now that Will’s empathy had effectively evaporated.

Still, as Will drank and drank, his blood began to sing in a way it simply hadn’t with anyone else. _Mine, mine, mine_ it would rhapsodize as Will allowed more of the delicious liquid to gush into his mouth and trickle down his throat, and a primal sense of possession overtook him further with each measured gulp.

Hannibal’s writhing lost steam and his pulse began to fade. The chorus echoing throughout Will, encouraging him to claim what was his, became louder and more assertive with every passing second. Soon _mine, mine, mine_ went from a rejoicing declaration to a cautionary cry. Will did his best to ignore it, the hunger too powerful to deny, but as Hannibal lost consciousness and his breathing slowed, an unmistakable sensation of dread seized Will’s whole body.

Finally, when Hannibal was on the cusp of death, Will’s fangs forcibly retracted of their own volition and his body was screaming at him to _STOP_ as vehemently as if he’d been trying to hold his breath. He snarled, darting his free hand out to grip Hannibal’s head, hoping to simply snap his neck and make a clean break. But before Will could twist, he began quivering uncontrollably, as if he had a gun pointed at his own temple.

Somehow, Will’s demon was interpreting this as a self-sabotage that it would not abide. Drinking from Hannibal was encouraged, but draining or killing him was forbidden. And from the sharp note of panic that stabbed Will when he registered Hannibal’s waning vitality, allowing the fragile creature to die would be similarly counterproductive.

Will groaned, displeased with this development. “Really hoped I was done with you.”

He sighed, releasing his grip on Hannibal’s neck, and watching dejectedly as the unresponsive meat-sack crumpled to the floor.

Sinking to a crouch, he bit his wrist and forced it over Hannibal’s mouth. When it was clear the normally eager cannibal wasn’t taking the coveted opportunity to devour a part of Will, he used his free hand to pinch the hollows of Hannibal’s jaw, beneath those razor-sharp cheekbones. Tilting Hannibal’s head back, he bit his wrist again and allowed the blood to drip, waiting for it to trickle down Hannibal’s throat. Finally, after several moments of no response, Hannibal’s fingers twitched.

A genuine smile broke across Will’s lips for the first time in days; it had worked. As he watched Hannibal’s breath return to him, Will could already feel his overly active nervous system settling back down to baseline.

When Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered open, Will socked him in the forehead, knocking him out instantly. He checked Hannibal’s pulse; slow, but steady. Feeling assured now that Hannibal would recover, Will sighed, bending to hook Hannibal over his shoulder.

He took one last glance backward, down at the heavy man; the whiny patient whose neck he’d snapped.

 _Not my problem,_ Will shrugged. He sped out of the room, his unconscious possession alive and securely in tow.

* * *

 

Awareness slowly dawned on Hannibal in the form of a scent. _Smoke_. The distinct, blended smells of wool and cotton burning. Under that, notes of dried wood, slowly charring.

The fireplace in his bedroom. He could hear the crackling of a well-stoked fire.

Another scent soon made its presence known; the familiar taste of honey wafted on the air, accompanied by the aroma of fresh citrus and cedar. _His_ signature aroma. Someone had been using his shower.

“You’re awake,” he heard a distant voice comment. The volume of his surroundings increased with a steady pulse, and he heard bare feet padding on his hardwood floor. “Feeling better?”

Hannibal was suddenly aware of his body, and the fact that he was lying face-up on his own bed. He took a quick inventory of himself and surmised that, other than being somewhat dazed from waking, he felt completely fine. Wondering for a second why that was odd, a flash of the sensation of his spine cracking caused him to shake involuntary. Memories of Will attacking him, breaking his body and draining him ruthlessly all flooded his consciousness, and he sat up with a quick jolt. Instinctively, he frantically grasped at his neck, confused when he found it entirely healed with a healthy pulse beneath it.

But as Hannibal’s blurred vision found focus, his momentary distress melted away as he caught the breathtaking sight of Will. In the dimly lit room, the younger man's tanned, bare skin glistened against the firelight. He wore nothing but Hannibal’s monogrammed bath sheet around his waist, his curls damp. The beauty of his reflection in the full length mirror rivalled that of the Greek gods and, appropriately, it regarded Hannibal’s mortal presence with a mild indifference.

“You didn’t kill me,” Hannibal noted when his breathing steadied.

“I didn’t,” Will confirmed as he turned and inspected his reflection.

Hannibal shuffled to the edge of the bed, careful not to move too hastily and risk disturbing Will. Placing his feet on the floor and sitting up straight, he observed his shoes had been removed at some point and he was only wearing socks. He glanced down and saw he was still in the same suit he’d been wearing, the collar of his button-down shredded open and caked in his dried blood. Will must have dumped Hannibal's unconscious body on the bed before burning his own clothes and making use of the ensuite bathroom.

“May I ask why?” Hannibal risked, remembering the accusations levelled at him before he’d blacked out. “Not to imply I am ungrateful for your mercy.”

“Changed my mind.” Will’s tone was casual, as if he’d decided to switch to a different item on the menu. “Lucky for you, I figured there might still be a few ways you can be useful to me.”

Upon hearing this explanation, Hannibal was instantly skeptical. The Will who had nearly killed him had been resolute in his decision. It was unlikely he would have changed his mind on a simple whim. Something must have happened. And while Hannibal had his theories, he sensed voicing them now would not go over quite as well as they would have with the Will Graham he’d come to know and…

 _...oh_.

The thought took him by such surprise, he didn’t dare to even _think_ the mundane four-letter word.

“As I have said before,” Hannibal tried to remain present as the realization overwhelmed him. “I am yours. You may use me however you wish.”

The corner of Will’s mouth twisted into a satisfied grin. “See? Always so agreeable. One of the reasons I changed my mind.”

Will reached down and undid the knot in his towel, the fabric twisting around his body to reveal the bare flesh of his firm thighs and perfectly supple behind. As Will toweled his damp curls dry, Hannibal’s heart began to race as he was treated to the unobstructed sight of Will’s nudity for the first time. His eyes flickered to the reflection, where Will’s cock hung freely, unaroused and no less appealing for it. The gift of finally seeing Will entirely disrobed, exposed and vulnerable, was erotic enough on its own.

He pondered if this was an appropriate time to grab his sketchbook and ask Will to pose for him. Even if he did not survive the day, Hannibal felt the true tragedy would be for the beauty of this moment to pass by uncaptured.

When Will finished toweling off, he caught sight of Hannibal in the mirror and cocked a curious brow. He glanced at his own reflection, as if he was just realizing how he may be eliciting such a reaction. Turning to Hannibal, Will gave him a quick once over, clearly deciding something before finally tossing him the towel.

Despite delayed reflexes from his grogginess, Hannibal caught the damp fabric and was suddenly overpowered by the heavy, heavenly scent of Will’s blended aromas soaked into the plush Turkish cotton. His hands began to tremble.

“Go ahead,” Will encouraged as he sauntered away, flicking on the light in Hannibal’s walk-in-closet. “Take a whiff. I don’t mind.”

At the suggestion, Hannibal pursed his lips. This was clearly an act of benevolence on Will’s behalf. Despite Will’s apathy, he viewed this gesture as incentive, as a reward. Hannibal glanced downward, knowing how it undignified it would appear to take it as such.

His higher cognitive functions finally returning, Hannibal realized that with Will inside the walk-in, the door to the bedroom had been left unguarded. If he left now, there was a small chance he might make a clean break for it.

But when Will returned to the bedroom a moment later, Hannibal was instead perched on the bed, face-deep in the towel, lost to waves of arousal as he blissfully inhaled with abandon. Will smirked, tossing a garment bag on the quilted bench at the end of the bed, taking a brief second to affectionately scruff the back of Hannibal’s head.

“Good boy,” he said, in the same tone Hannibal had once heard him use with Winston.  

Olfactorily satiated and satisfied with his well-received demonstration of loyalty, Hannibal’s eyes fluttered open as he set the towel aside. He was greeted with the tantalizing sight of a half-naked Will up close, still bare from the waist up, but poured into black jeans so tight they may as well have been painted on.

Hannibal furrowed his brow. His fantasies involving Will were often as elaborate as they were varied in their nature, but he had never imagined Will wearing something quite like this.

"I went shopping," Will said, answering Hannibal's inquisitive gaze. "Actually, I went into the shop for a quick bite. After the sales girl had stopped screaming, I realized she'd been right; I really _could_ use a change of clothes. And there clothes were.” Will shrugged. “Can't get into many places reeking of dried blood. "

“You're going out?” Hannibal asked, trying not to sound critical or disappointed. Given that he’d woken up to a crackling fire in his own bedroom, he’d dared to hope their evening had been heading in a different direction.

“We both are,” Will said, unzipping the garment bag. “You should probably grab a shower too. The ‘trauma victim’ look isn't going to play well at the club.”

“The club,” Hannibal repeated, his tone even. “You wish to hunt?”

“Always quick on the uptake,” Will said brightly. “My decision to keep you alive; I’m regretting it less and less.”

“But I am more than happy to allow you to feed from me.” Hannibal did his best not to voice how threatened he felt, instead appealing to reason. “There’s no need to involve another.”

Will snorted, seeing through Hannibal’s assurances with ease.

“Trust me, even with my blood in your system, your bone marrow would not be able to keep pace with how much I need to drink.” Will affected a mock pout. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“But the unpleasant effect others’ blood has on you-“

“I told you; I don’t feel anything, including empathy.” Will’s expression matched his claim. “Wish I'd realized I could shut it off months ago. I’ve been starving and torturing myself for no reason.”

Hannibal recalled Will’s declaration from earlier about having ‘ _killed and killed_.’

“Does this mean you have not withheld yourself when feeding on others?” There was a note of apprehension in Hannibal’s voice now, one he couldn’t hide. He recalled Franklyn, laying dead in his office. It occurred to Hannibal that it was likely his patient had remained that way.  “How many bodies have been casually discarded in the wake of your...unleashing?”

“Oh, Hannibal,” Will chided as he pulled out a crisp white button down from the bag. “How are you, of all people, choosing to look this gift horse in the mouth? Where’s your sense of _fun_?”

“I only speak out of concern for you-“

“Forget about me for a second.” Will’s tone was dismissive, but not unkind. “Have you even hunted for _yourself_ since we met? Don’t even bother; I know you haven’t. You’ve been too preoccupied with obsessing over a pathetic, hypersensitive little vampire. One who couldn’t even drink to save his life, not without breaking down into a blubbering, emotional mess. But you can relax now; he’s gone. We can _finally_ go on the spree you’ve been dreaming of since the day you discovered what I was.”

Will finished unbuttoning the shirt from the hanger and pulled on the sleeves, leaving it open. This allowed Hannibal to freely gander at the immaculately defined chest as he considered Will’s words.

Meanwhile, Will zipped up the garment bag, having taken the one thing he'd wanted. He grabbed the hook of the hanger and tossed the bag over his shoulder, returning it to the walk-in.

“I mean, why else would you have planned to surprise me with a perfectly tailored suit?”

Hannibal swallowed. Nothing Will had said was exactly untrue, including his desire to present Will with the gift the younger man had taken the liberty to unwrap himself.

“I had wished to provide you with something to wear with me to formal events,” Hannibal admitted, at least pleased to see that he had been correct about the measurements on the shirt. “Concerts, ballets, charity functions; these are more than engagements I attend for my enjoyment. They are a vital aspect of my cover. One I still hope to include you in.”

Will seemed predictably unenthused at the notion as he returned to the bedroom.

“Maybe another night.” He turned back to the mirror, assessing his hair. “Tonight, we’re hunting. No social etiquette required; just dancing and drinking, grinding and feeding. Primal bloodlust in its purest form.”

Hannibal instantly honed in on the word ‘lust,’ remembering how he’d sensed none on Will when he’d last fed on him.

“Yes, I’ve often found that environment stimulating to my most base desires, enhancing the thrill of the hunt." Hannibal cocked his head. "Tell me, now that you are unburdened by empathy, do you anticipate you’ll feel the same?”

“I doubt it,” Will replied flatly. “The only desire I have is to feed.”

This worried Hannibal. “Such a limited range of emotions is indicative of-“

“Don’t psychoanalyze me.” Will said, abruptly cutting him off. He began doing up the buttons on his shirt, starting from the midpoint of his torso and moving downwards. “I’ve been inside the mind of enough sociopaths to recognize the symptoms. I know what I’m dealing with. The difference is, unlike the deluded freaks I catch, I _am_ actually higher up on the food chain. Even if I’m exposed, I can’t be stopped. And I have zero intention of stopping.”

Will sighed, tucking in his half-open shirt and turning around. Somehow, the clean, simple white-on-black look made him almost as enthralling as when he'd been nude.

“But I have given thought to the inevitable boredom.” Will strode back to the bed, focus entirely on Hannibal now. “It’s the main reason you’re still here. You’re not a true psychopath; there are things you feel more deeply than anyone I’ve ever met. Joy, pride, serenity, _desire_. For me, it seems to be all or nothing, but you…you’ve got the emotions gig figured out.”

Affecting sultriness, Will allowed a wry grin to colour his features. He reached out and playfully wrapped the remnants of Hannibal's tie around his fingers.

“With you around, maybe I can learn to selectively turn on whatever I want without any pesky baggage like fear or guilt.” Bringing one knee up on the bed, then the other, Will straddled Hannibal and slid onto his lap. “Until then, you’ll just need to have enough fun for the both of us.”

As Will ran his free hand along Hannibal’s thigh, fingers brushing the outline of his flagging erection and stirring it back to life, Hannibal closed his eyes and granted himself a single quiver.

“Does your new demeanour preclude you from feeling arousal?” Hannibal rasped. “From registering pleasure?”

When Hannibal opened his eyes, he found Will inches from his face, studying his reaction with a rapt curiosity. Hannibal wondered if pure empathy had been a crutch for Will when it came to social interaction, and without it, he had little to fall back on when it came to reading other's expressions.

“I’ve gotten hard a few times while I drank. But I think that’s more of a biological response than anything,” Will replied, his tone no less sensual for his words. Careful to keep his pelvis angled away, aware his lack of physical arousal might spoil the mood, he pressed his cheek to Hannibal’s and whispered low in his ear. “But don’t worry. If you behave yourself tonight and help me feed, I’ll still let you fuck me.”

Alarm sounded through the haze of Hannibal’s arousal. “Would that not be something you’d want for yourself?”

Will shrugged, pulling his face away just as his hand firmly gripped Hannibal’s length through his pants. “Does it matter?”

Even as Hannibal shuddered at the touch, he searched Will’s eyes for any sign of reciprocation. Finding none, he licked his lips, speaking softly. “Yes.”

Breaking character for a moment, Will rolled his eyes before pushing Hannibal back firmly so he lay spread out on the bed. The younger man fell with him, their bodies flush. Will hooked Hannibal’s hand behind him, encouraging him to cup his supple behind through the fabric of Will’s black jeans. He began tracing Hannibal’s face affectionately with his thumb, staring down through a frame of curls.

“Watching you work through your first moral quandary is almost amusing,” Will teased. “But it’s unnecessary. If you’re worried about me feeling used-“

“It’s not that,” Hannibal said, not keen on pursuing that particular conversation, even if it was relevant to his main objection. “My greatest pleasure would be in pleasuring you. In witnessing your pleasure. Without that element, I find myself uninterested.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” A tinge of amusement spread across Will’s face. “You’re an old-fashioned gentleman; of course you dream of a night of elegant seduction. Candles, rose-petals, soft music and exotic lubricants. You’d touch me tenderly and whisper melodies of reassurance when I confess that it's my first time with a man. You’d wait for me to come, stroking me through my orgasm just past the point of over-sensitivity, releasing yourself in me only as my fangs finally pierce your neck.”

As he said it, Will’s nails dug into the flesh beneath Hannibal’s jaw, tearing a helpless groan from him as they scraped and drew blood.

“You can still have that, you know.” Will’s voice was breathy. “We’d agreed to be honest with one another, and up until now, I haven’t cared enough to break that habit. But the act of taking care of you is something I find… _satisfying_. So if you need it, I have no problem with a little role-play.”

Will ducked slightly, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Hannibal’s mouth, before pulling back and giving off a shy laugh. 

“What do you think?” Will asked, biting his lip. His cheeks were noticeably flushed.

Fractured between two states of mind, Hannibal could only offer a blunt assessment. “Not bad. Perhaps a little overwrought and a tad unconvincing in the eyes.”

At this, Will dropped the charade completely. His face chillingly fell back to neutral. “I’ll work on it.”

He peeled himself off Hannibal, crawling back to the edge of the bed. Standing, he adjusted his clothing back to something presentable before tossing a quick glance in Hannibal’s direction.

“Shower and change into something appropriate for tonight's excursion,” Will instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. His eyes flashed briefly to Hannibal's neck before looking pointedly away. “And do it quickly. It’s already been a few hours since I drained you. I’m _starving_.”

Letting the veiled threat hang in the air, Will exited the bedroom, leaving Hannibal to his deeply contentious thoughts.

Yes, he had wanted Will to let go of the fear that he used to cage himself. But never had Hannibal dreamed that Will would shed his humanity entirely.

Hannibal had encountered many interesting individuals in his practise that, on paper, may be more suited to his temperament and interests than Will had ever been. But he’d made a point to avoid personal entanglements with more extreme forms of personality disorders, sometimes referring them right out of the gate, because true psychopaths were unpalatably reckless. In Will, Hannibal had seen the potential for glorious destruction, but blunted by his empathy into something manageable. Something sustainable. Now, with Will’s hunger guiding his actions entirely, Hannibal feared that future had evaporated.

And, as surprised as he was to realize it, Hannibal had grown rather fond of the Will he’d known. His reverence for Will was as rooted in the empath's personality as it was in his miraculous nature. This unfeeling entity walking around in Will’s skin, while promising Hannibal almost everything he’d ever wanted, was merely an echo of the man Hannibal desired.

And yet, Hannibal was still inextricably drawn to Will, regardless of which person-suit he wore. Will was too rare a creature to ever abandon, not that Hannibal felt physically capable of even considering such a transgression. And Will was in need of Hannibal’s presence and guidance, perhaps now more than ever. Given Hannibal’s bone-deep desire to acquiesce to Will’s every whim, he resolved that he simply must adapt to this new situation as readily as he had every other unexpected circumstance he’d ever encountered.

He would push past the grieving process as quickly as was necessary. A night spent hunting with this new version of Will would surely help with that. The thought alone was enough to dose Hannibal with a shot of adrenaline, giving him the extra push to do as he was asked and get ready for the evening.

Once again, thanks to Will, Hannibal had narrowly evaded death’s clutches and been given a new lease on life. Hannibal resolved to make the most of it, for it was potentially the last time he'd ever be afforded such a gift.

Later, as he pulled out of the driveway, Will still primping in the mirror overhanging the passenger seat, most of Hannibal’s doubts had been dulled or dismissed entirely. He was off to hunt with the one person who had ever appreciated exactly what that meant to him. The thought had Hannibal’s entire bloodstream humming with joyful anticipation.

As such, engrossed as Hannibal was with the prospect of the evening ahead of them, he failed to take the precautions he normally took on a night such as this. Which is perhaps how he missed the dark car down the street, roaring to life the moment he pulled out of his driveway, following inconspicuously as they rounded the first corner and drove off into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a couple weeks between updates for the last few chapters. Thanks to life and the things it has planned for me over the next little while, I'm anticipating this pace of updating to continue for the foreseeable future. Sorry! Just know I'm still very committed to this story! And thanks, as always, for your feedback; it really does mean a lot to me ^_^
> 
>  **Dubcon Warning** : Elements of dubcon are all over this chapter, specifically in the veins of sex pollen and involuntary drug consumption. I know I'm usually fairly vague with warnings (a _vampire Hannibal AU_ automatically has too many to list), but I wanted to give a heads-up to anyone who might be triggered here.

“What?”

Will allowed the body of the frizzy-haired blonde to slump to the floor. Her dead weight collapsed on top an overly tattooed twenty-something, whose matching puncture wounds and lack of pulse were the only things he had in common with the body on top of him.

The dark alcove on the top level of the club, a repurposed warehouse on the edge of the water, was hardly refuge from the deafening, pulsating thrum of the electronic beat. But the music was muted enough there that he could be heard in the tiny space without shouting at full volume, and secluded enough that he could look across at his companion without being blinded by the ubiquitous whirling, flashing lights.

Without his empathy, Will couldn’t decipher the subtle nuances behind Hannibal’s silent gaze. But he didn’t need empathy to tell that the man was not pleased.

“It can’t be the shirt,” Will said, licking tiny droplets of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve actually made an effort not to let anything seep into the ‘ _thousand-dollar silk._ ’”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed briefly to Will’s white, half open button-down, confirming it was spotless, before he regarded the two empty blood-bags now dead on the ground. His nostrils barely flared in a microscopic sigh.

“Gonna need you to speak your mind,” Will said, monotone as he folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Whatever that look is about, don’t worry; you’re not going to offend me.”

Arching a brow, Hannibal placed his hands primly behind his back. “I was merely reflecting on us once discussing your most cherished pastime. You described your passion for fishing in such vivid detail, yet you failed to mention the shotgun and the barrel.”

Will sneered.

“Why make feeding any harder than it needs to be?” Then, catching Hannibal’s gaze, he rolled his eyes. “Right; forgot who I was talking to.”

“Are you still hungry?”

Will’s stomach growled at the question. “I’m definitely not full.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal said brightly, holding out his hand. “Then, with your indulgence, perhaps I can suggest how to approach this next catch from a more stimulating angle?”

Eying Hannibal’s outstretched palm unenthusiastically, Will took it nonetheless, stepping over the mess he had no intention of cleaning up, despite Hannibal’s unspoken reservations. Hannibal lead them out of the alcove, towards the balcony that overlooked the three levels of the club. It was a Friday night and the place was absolutely packed.

Will reached out and gripped the railing, curling his fingers around the rough metal. He looked out on the sea of undulating bodies, faceless and carefree and reeking of vitality. The briefly quelled hunger roared back to life. But before he could dash off and grab another meal, Will felt a strong hand wrap around his, holding his palm firmly against the rail. 

“Not yet,” Hannibal insisted. It took all of Will’s energy not to rip his hand off and throw Hannibal over the edge, into the pit below. “Tell me, before we met, how would you choose who to feed on?”

Taking a steady breath, Will cast his gaze back out onto the crowd.

“Empathy. I wouldn’t be able to describe it, but there’s a certain kind of recklessness in people who think they won’t be missed. Or a certain brand of caution in those who fear they won’t.”

Will’s eyes raked over a small group of women, all who looked identically edible.

“Either way, I wouldn’t be able to spot it now.” Will affected a sly grin for Hannibal’s benefit. “Not that it matters.”

Hannibal sighed. “I almost regret informing you about the alluring properties of your scent, if only because your ignorance may have given you incentive to put forth an effort. Simply plucking the first victim of your aromatic aphrodisiac off the dance floor is no way to conduct a hunt.”

“I’d argue it’s the best way.”

“You’d be wrong,” Hannibal warned. “For several reasons. At the rate you are ensnaring your prey, your hunt will soon become noticeable. And, if the bodies you left behind are any indication, easily traceable.”

“I don’t-“

“I’m aware it doesn’t concern you.” Hannibal’s grip on him tightened. “It should. I am all too familiar with the sense of superiority and invulnerability one can assume in these situations. But logic would dictate that if vampires were truly untouchable, they would feel no need to hide themselves. Your maker hides from something, do they not?”

Will tilted his head slightly, considering how best to answer. But before he could, Hannibal had stepped away from his side and slid up behind him. Will’s back became flush with Hannibal’s front as the larger man enclosed him in with an arm on each side.

“I, too, fear for your boredom,” Hannibal said, his lips hovering just behind Will’s ear. “The effortless nature in which you are able to kill would be spectacular to watch if you showed any sign of relishing it. Feeding itself seems to bring you no pleasure. Yes, you have embraced who you are, but you are merely surviving. That is no way to live.”

Once upon a time, Hannibal’s proximity would be sending thrills down Will’s spine, straight to his groin. As Will was now, there was only the echo of excitement. A subsonic vibration of arousal. Which, granted, was more than nothing.

“The blood,” Will said, voice low. “Fresh in my veins, I can almost feel...”

He turned his head slightly, still looking forward as their cheeks lightly grazed.

“You,” Will finished. “I can almost feel you.”

It was almost too easy.

Hannibal’s embrace tightened a sliver of a fraction. Deep inhalations beneath a thin cotton t-shirt were obvious as Hannibal’s ribs expanded against Will’s back.

“Would you allow me to select your next meal?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Will took a moment to mull it over. Without empathy, he was reasonably certain that it really wouldn’t make a difference who he fed from. But humouring this exercise would satisfy Hannibal, which would both ease his nerves and end this discussion. So he gave a small nod, and heard a sigh of relief in reward.

Moments later, they were stepping onto the main dance floor, weaving through the crowd as the happy, energetic music flowed into something darker, more sensual.

Hannibal lead them to the center, walking backwards, eyes focused on Will the entire time. This alone drew the stares of people they passed. Hannibal’s possessiveness of Will was palpable, and it served to make those already ensnared by Will’s scent even more intrigued by his presence. Will preened under the attention, making sure to only break Hannibal’s gaze to briefly glance at the most desirable gawkers in their wake.

Finally, Hannibal decided they had left enough of a lure and stopped in the middle of the floor, pulling Will into him and spinning him around so they were back to front. Looking out into the crowd, Will could see they were being watched from all directions, and the collective gaze on them intensified as Hannibal draped an arm across his stomach, as if to announce _you can look, but don’t touch_.

“See?” Hannibal had taken to whispering in his ear with such vigor. He pulled Will’s ass against his pelvis, unabashedly grinding against him on the dancefloor in the most brazen display. “You needn’t settle for whoever first falls for your charms. With just a modicum of effort, you are free to have your pick.”

Hannibal was swaying in time with the slow, steady beat, and Will moved to meet Hannibal’s rhythm. When they were in sync, he let his head fall back against the shoulder behind him, reaching back to clutch at Hannibal’s neck as they danced. Letting his eyes fluttered close, he allowed it to appear as if he was being swept away by the music and the strong body behind him.

Hannibal wanted to paint a picture in the minds of their onlookers. He wanted to entice them; stir up their envy and make them envision something they longed to be a part of. And Will had no problem obliging.

“I though you were doing the picking,” Will said as he run his free hand sensually along the arm against his stomach, a move that was intimately perceived by everyone around them. “Unless you’re hoping I drain them all.”

Hannibal’s hum rumbled low in his ear. “As truly magnificent as that would be to behold, I do believe I have made my selection for the evening.”

Will felt the hand draped along his side move for a second, Hannibal’s finger crooking enticingly at someone out in the crowd.

Will followed Hannibal’s line of vision, eyes falling on a slim, elfin-faced brunette boy with coiffed hair and a patterned black neckerchief. He had been dancing opposite a shorter boy with overly slicked-back hair, watching Hannibal and Will’s display with rapt attention, but had since frozen solid, eyes wide at Hannibal’s invitation. He looked around quickly, as if to say _who, me?_ When Hannibal gave a friendly nod, his grip tightening around Will again, the boy playfully slunk towards them, leaving his indignant dance partner behind without so much as an apologetic glance backwards.

“Hey,” the boy said, his voice light and breathy. His eyes eagerly darted between the two older men, impossibly pleased that he'd been the one selected to join in on their fun.

Will shot him a seductive grin, reaching out to pull the kid forward, breaking free of Hannibal’s hold and slotting the newcomer between them. When Will's chest pressed against the boy's back, he felt a shudder and a muffled squeal of delight.  Will slid one hand up the kid’s thigh, gripping his hip to hold him close, while hooking his other arm over the kid’s shoulder, bringing Hannibal forwards and sandwiching the slim young man between them.

The heavy music pulsed on and none of them missed a beat.

“Not really to your usual taste,” Will commented, blatantly speaking only to Hannibal. “He's lithe.”

The kid giggled dreamily, drunk or high or dumbstruck on Will’s scent. Possibly all three. “Actually, I’m K-“

“He’s not for me.” Hannibal countered, only to Will. “Too ambitious and full of life. This one won’t squander his potential.” He glanced down momentarily at the body between them, stroking approvingly along the pale pink skin underneath the boy’s jaw. “Although, I must say, I find his wardrobe’s boldness rather enticing.”

The boy shivered again, overwhelmed with both of their attentions. Meanwhile, Will followed Hannibal’s teasing fingers as they traced the boy’s artery down the side his neck. Soon the pounding pulse drowned out the music overhead, and the all too familiar rush in Will’s veins took over. But before he could latch onto the boy’s throat, a firm hand circled the back of his own neck and held him steady.

“Not here,” Hannibal said lightly, the note of warning absent, but implied.

On instinct, Will snarled. Whatever qualms Will’s demon had about breaking Hannibal’s neck did not extend to the body between them, and Will heard a small whimper as he threaded his fingers into the boy’s short locks.

“You wanted to learn how avoid boredom.” Hannibal all but audibly tsked. “Try to restrain yourself with this one.”

“I’m up for whatever you both want,” the boy stuttered nervously. “No restraint necessary, I promise!”

“Hush,” Hannibal soothed. “Grown ups are talking, sweet boy.”

The kid’s stiff posture quickly melted back into Will’s embrace, and Will allowed it by relieving the tightness of his grip.

“You want me to let him walk away from this?” Will asked, ignoring the quiet shudder in his arms. “Why?”

“To see if you still can,” Hannibal reasoned. “You’d managed to do so before we met. Besides, I might find witnessing the prospective challenge…invigorating.”

The small tendril of arousal that had pulled at Will earlier flared for a brief second at the huskiness in Hannibal’s voice. Perhaps Hannibal was onto something. Will gently caressed the soft skin exposed at the boy’s hip.

“Would you like to come with us?” Will whispered invitingly against his ear. “Some place a little more private?”

He heard the boy swallow. “Yes, please.”

Hannibal smiled, breaking their little threesome as he dragged them both from the dance-floor. He led them through the crowd and around several obstacles that Will was too hungry to keep track of, instead focused on flirting with the boy and amused at how awkwardly amenable he was to it.

Before long, they rounded the corner into a long passageway, almost empty except for a couple too high and focused on devouring each other to even notice them. More importantly, Will and Hannibal were once again shielded from the intensity of the lights. Music dulled to background noise while still being loud enough to prevent their conversation from being overheard.

Hannibal backed into a small doorway, his watchful gaze split between Will and the way leading back to the club. Ever the multitasker, Hannibal was keeping a lookout, even now. He gracefully took the boy’s hand and spun him around, pulling him close so that they were both facing Will.

“You’re such a pretty young thing,” Hannibal uttered, the unrefined phrasing sounding strange in his mouth yet no less evocative.  Even though he was clutching the boy hard against his chest, running his fingers along his soft skin in a reassuring gesture, Hannibal only had eyes for Will. “So eager and well behaved. I know my friend thinks so too. Don’t you?”

Not feeling or thinking much of anything, Will still found it easy enough to play along. He draped himself over-top the kid, who was looking up at him with a rapturous desire. As soon as Will pressed a hungry kiss against the boy’s parted lips, he felt the half-hearted hardness against his thigh stir to life.

Will hummed encouragingly. “Very responsive.”

The kid was stunned into silence, thrumming with want. He sought out Will’s lips again, but this time, it was the boy Hannibal held at bay.

“My friend needs a tiny bit more from you, something that might hurt.” Hannibal spoke lightly, teasingly. “Nothing to be worried about, of course. He’s taken from me dozens of times and never left a mark.”

Going along with Hannibal’s game of denial, Will staved off his hunger by pressing chaste kisses along the boy’s jaw. His hands made their unhurried way up his side, taking detours to fully explore soft curves and hard lines beneath him. Evident by the short panting and high moans this elicited, Will was seeing to it that any resistance the boy might have felt at Hannibal’s suggestion was smoothed away.

Meanwhile, Hannibal himself watched Will’s seduction with bated breath. “Nonetheless, it would please him so if you could keep calm and quiet during, sweet boy. I promise to hold you through it. Do you think you could do that for us?”

The boy nodded distractedly, breath hitching as Will pulled down the black neckerchief and nuzzled the vibrating skin now exposed. Fangs extending behind his lips, Will cast a sharp glance upwards, wordlessly daring Hannibal to stop him one last time.

“A small bite,” Hannibal instructed, a tone Will only allowed without recourse because he couldn’t bear to unlatch from the soon-to-be-open artery. “Drink slow. Suck hard enough to leave a noticeable superficial bruise. Stop when I say so.”

Rolling his eyes at the last command, Will pierced the boy’s skin just enough to draw blood, which gloriously gushed into his mouth nonetheless. A weak cry escaped, but it was quickly muffled by Hannibal’s hand. Within seconds, the sharp pain passed and the boy slumped against the larger man holding him up, his voice breaking on a blissful moan as Will began to suck.

“That’s it, drink slow, take your fill,” Hannibal muttered encouragingly, the sound a distant echo in Will’s head as he felt himself surrender to the blood. His grip on the boy’s shoulder and hip tightened as the warm liquid passing over his tongue trickled down his throat and slaked his thirst.

Will was too far-gone to know exactly when it happened, but the tiny tendril of arousal he’d felt earlier suddenly sprouted inside him. As he drank the boy down, dormant emotions began to stir. Every gulp he swallowed was accompanied with a growing light-headedness, as if his own blood was being drained. The feeling was chased by a pleasant full-body tingling and sense of carnal fulfillment. Although he didn’t feel it directly, Will nonetheless shuddered at the phantom sensation of Hannibal’s erection pressing into his back.

Even though Will’s own cock was only just beginning to grow thick, he could _feel_ the young man’s aching hardness pressing into him like it was his own. Soon Will was overcome with the need for relief and he fumbled to free the boy’s cock, stroking him quickly as he continued to drink.

The boy whimpered as Will brought him off, lost in ecstasy and dazed by the blood loss. When he came, Will nearly followed him, even half-hard himself. Only Hannibal’s steady hand at his neck kept him from tumbling over the edge.

“That’s enough, Will,” Hannibal pressed, his tone heated but authoritative. “You’ve taken enough. Time to let him go.”

From inside the kid’s mind, Will could feel that Hannibal was right; it wouldn’t be long before the boy’s vision was creeping on the edge of blackness. Had it been before he’d taken a bite, not even Hannibal’s insistence would have been enough to convince Will to release his prey. But in that moment, Will felt connected to the boy’s survival, and that was a compelling enough reason to stop himself.

“That..was…” Will shuddered as he drew back, running his fingers softly over his lips to wipe away droplets of blood, his eyes fluttering closed. Trailing his hand down his own neck, head tilting back as his fingers dipped lower down the opening of his shirt, Will was practically vibrating. The sweet aftertaste of blood still dancing along his senses, he panted and collapsed against the boy. “I feel so goddamn  _alive_.”

He felt Hannibal’s chest rumble through the body between them. “I am certainly pleased to hear it.”

“What should we do with him?” Will asked dazedly, running his hands up and down the delightfully pliable form. “You sure you don’t want leftovers? Would be a shame to let him go to waste.”

“As generous an offer as that is, you were right before,” Hannibal sighed, circling Will’s open puncture wounds lovingly with the pads of his fingers. “He is not quite to my taste. Perhaps our next venture might include that consideration.”

Will hummed in agreement as he lazily palmed the boy’s softening cock, tucking him back into his tight gold pants. Bringing his hand to his lips, Will savoured the remnants of release before gripping the boy’s jaw and shaking him lucid.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

At Will’s words, Hannibal released the boy. He swayed forward, fumbling against Will to stand.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Will was unsure if it was for the orgasm or for letting him go. There was nothing about his demeanour that suggested he truly grasped the peril he’d just so narrowly escaped. He stumbled down the hallway lethargically, hand propped against the wall to help himself along.

Will could hardly be bothered to watch the whole procession, collapsing against Hannibal now there was nothing between them. Hooking his hands on Hannibal’s shoulders, Will nuzzled at the exposed skin and chest hair poking out from his V-neck. Inhaling Hannibal’s musk, Will ground himself against the thick leg between his own and boldly stroked the full cock concealed by designer denim.

“God, you look so…” Will’s body was thrumming. “… _sexy_. Fuck, Hannibal, you should go for the casual look more often. Not that the eccentric plaid three-pieces don’t do it for me sometimes.”

Throwing his head back, Hannibal gasped at Will’s manipulations, his hand tangling in Will’s sweat-damp curls. “If you asked me to, I’d set fire to my wardrobe.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Will panted into the muscled chest, so close to release with just the friction against Hannibal’s thigh. “I could rip off all your clothes and deny you from wearing anything ever-”

Will paused, biting his lip as his grinding slowed.

“...Hannibal?”

“Yes?” Hannibal’s hiss was as polite as he could manage, given that he was on the edge of his own release.

Will’s head was pleasantly swimming. “Did you pick _him_ because you somehow knew he’d just taken ecstasy?”

“No,” Hannibal answered honestly, his voice strained. “But I did smell it on him rather quickly after selecting him.”

“And you didn’t warn me,” Will said, tracing the hard lines of Hannibal’s body through his shirt, “because you were curious to see what would happen.”

The broken sound escaping Hannibal’s lips wasn’t a denial.

“You wanted to feel only desirable emotions,” Hannibal muttered, eyes shut as he enjoyed Will’s hands on him. “In my defense, arousal is not a common side-effect; only an increase in one’s sense of connection. The empathy you feel with the boy's arousal is likely artificial and borne out of the blood.”

Will groaned, tucking his head in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. No matter how the situation was spun, Will had been deceived. Hannibal giving him an out did not change the fact that he’d essentially been drugged. But there was no space to feel violated in Will’s blissed-out state of mind.

“If what I’m feeling is synthetic, it’s going to metabolize out of my system soon," Will muttered, again focused on attending to rubbing Hannibal’s length. “So, if you’re really that invested in my enjoyment of you fucking me, now would be the time.”

Hannibal tugged at his hair, eyes fluttering open to lock with Will’s, whose vision was fading in and out of focus. He brought his free hand up to cup Will’s jaw and hold their gazes steady, and Will shuddered at the tingling pleasure of the touch. But he drew on his best efforts to stare back. Whatever chemical simulation allowed Will to empathize with the boy’s blood wasn’t extending to Hannibal’s face, and he couldn’t quite tell what Hannibal was searching for in his eyes.

Surely a cannibal wasn’t getting hung up on tedious little issues of consent.

Will felt compelled to reassure him when Hannibal’s gaze broke, his eyes darting away, down the hallway leading back to the dance floor. Hannibal’s brows furrowed and Will struggled to crane his head backwards, trying to catch a glimpse on whatever could have possibly warranted a distraction from this moment. But as far as Will could tell, there was nothing to see.

“What?” Will said when his head lolled back. He suddenly had the strangest sense of déjà vu.

“Nothing,” Hannibal said, unconvincingly. “Trick of the lighting, perhaps. Are you full?”

Humming, Will nuzzled against the broad chest again. “I have enough of an appetite to swallow some of you.”

Before Will could get too comfortable, Hannibal wrapped his arm across his shoulder, leading them both away from the dance floor and down the darkened hallway. Coming around the corner, they were illuminated in red by an overhead exit sign.

“Then I suggest we leave now,” Hannibal said, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of Will’s head. “I could never forgive myself for failing to properly make love to you.”

Will chuckled as he pushed open the locked door with the ease of his vampire strength, ignoring the alarm it set off. “Did I ever tell you how adorably old-fashioned you are?”

He hopped down half a story into a shipyard, helping Hannibal down after him. They weren’t even able to make it around the corner of the first shipping container before Will had Hannibal pressed up against the steel.

“I’m sorry,” Will said, breathing heavy as he writhed against Hannibal, seeking out his neck. “I just…feel so good… I want it to last…and you feel so _good_...”

“Take whatever you need,” Hannibal sighed happily, twisting his head to give Will better access. “I will never deny you.”

Will smiled, instinctively delighted at this overt display of submission. Running his fingers along Hannibal’s arms, he delicately gripped both wrists before slamming them against the metal above Hannibal’s head. Hannibal let out a pleased gasp at Will’s taking control, and then another at watching Will’s fangs slip out again.

“Okay, but stop me before I take too much,” Will said, not thinking too hard on this plan before he felt the crunch of his teeth piercing Hannibal’s flesh.

As soon as Hannibal’s blood passed over his lips, Will tasted the sweet, soothing calm he’d missed from days earlier. This wasn’t only the gratifying sense of ownership he’d felt when nearly draining Hannibal dry earlier that day; this time, the feeling was accompanied by a genuine serenity.

This was the heaven Will had been missing out on with his empathy shut off.

Will gripped Hannibal’s wrists harder and slammed them against the container again, the metallic echo resonating in a note of discomfort amongst Will’s symphony of contentment. Like a moth to a flame, Will couldn’t help but be drawn to the disharmony, if for no other reason that to seek out its source and squash it.

The wrists in his hands narrowed and his neck angled downwards as his source of sustenance shrank. Confused, Will pulled back to see what new game Hannibal was playing, before quickly realizing that the face he was staring at wasn’t Hannibal’s, but Jeremy’s. His hands weren’t being playfully pressed up against a shipping container; they were dangling from the ceiling in chains. Blood was gushing from a gaping wound, but the picture wasn’t complete without a still-beating heart in his hand.

Reaching out to make things right, Will snapped back to himself when his palm landed against Hannibal’s distinctly defined chest. Hannibal stared down at him with bemusement, silently inquiring about his rapid change in behaviour. But before Will could even piece together what he’d just experienced for himself, all the details from his breakdown came flooding back to him with a vengeance.

Within seconds, Will was crouched on the ground, hands clutching his head as he tried to force the pain and despair and relentless sadistic thoughts away.

“ _Stop, stop, stop, stop_ ,” Will begged over and over, rocking back and forth on the gravel. “Please stop, please _go away,_ please please _please_.”

“Will!” Hannibal said, suddenly at his side, his steady hand circling soothingly against his back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s coming back!” Will shouted through gritted teeth, his cheeks streaming with tears as every painful memory hit him, thrashing his freshly incited emotions like a tidal wave pummeling a sandcastle. “I can’t shut it off.”

“Your empathy?”

Will was too far gone to answer, but his babbling spoke for him. “I can’t handle this. Feeling all this. Why won’t it shut off again? I need it to, I can’t function, I can’t think...”

There was a note of genuine worry in Hannibal’s voice. “Perhaps it is the drug. We just need to wait for it to metabolize.”

Within seconds, Will had Hannibal by the throat and was holding him aloft, his toes barely skimming the ground.

Wrath spread through him like wildfire and Hannibal sputtered under his vice-like grip. Will hadn’t felt a rage this powerful and uncontainable since he’d woken up underground and had to crawl through six feet of dirt. And that fury had only broken when his fangs had pierced the neck of the first hitchhiker he’d stumbled across.

“This is your fault,” Will growled. “You did this too me!”

Self-preservation be damned; he was ending the source of his anguish now.

“Mr. Graham?” he heard an unfamiliar voice call out behind him.

Without a sense of discretion, Will turned around and hissed at the unwelcome intruder.

The voice belonged to a large man he’d never seen before. “My apologies for interrupting, but I must insist that you come with me.”

Will looked up to Hannibal and sneered. “Is this who you were running from in the club?”

With what little mobility he had, Hannibal furrowed his brows and shook his head.

“I’m here solely for you, Mr. Graham,” the man said, polite but persistent. Hearing the shuffling of footsteps, Will spared a glance around to see several dark figures close in from all directions, something that did not seem to faze their onlooker. “Please, there is much to discuss. We wish to escort you to somewhere more private.”

As light filtered across the faces of the new figures surrounding them, Will realized they were all young boys. Much younger than the boy he’d just snacked on in the club. Boys Jeremy’s age.

Suddenly Will was overcome with despair again and he dropped Hannibal, indifferent to the yelp he made when he collapsed unassumingly to the ground. Will folded his arms into himself, memories of the other boys assaulting him flashing between memories of finding their bodies on display at a crime scene, and disgust and anger swirled inside him. The very tangible memories of the many lives he’d taken over the past few days floated to the surface of his consciousness, and Will was on his knees again, overcome with sorrow and gagging up his guilt.

 “Are you him?” Will barked, not bothering to hide his disdain. “The one who’s been sending me postcards through the mutilated bodies of teenagers?”

“No,” the man said with a small chuckle. “But he _is_ my employer.”

Well, that was a good enough outlet for Will’s rage as any. Pulling himself together within seconds, Will lunged at the man. But his opponent was quick to cast his hand out and utter something in a language Will had never heard before. Will slammed against a barrier in mid-air, and by the time he hit the ground again, his brain was on fire. Screaming and clutching his head, he felt explosion after explosion behind his eye until he was lying face-up, incapacitated and spasming.

“Time is a precious commodity,” the man stated, looking around to his teenage minions. “Collect him now. We must go.”

Dimly, Will felt hands grasping him, lifting him up. As thoroughly wrecked as he was, Will had very little he could do about it.

“What about this guy?” he heard someone ask. “He’s barely breathing now, but he might live.”

“Mr. Graham seemed rather intent on killing him,” the faint voice of the large man replied. “Finish him off.”

“ _No!_ ” Will tried to scream, but it mostly came out a gurgle. Any residual rage he’d felt for Hannibal had trickled away in the confusion, to be replaced by overwhelming terror at the thought of losing him. He thrashed as hard as he could against the hands carrying him, unable to dislodge himself from their grasp but managing quite a commotion. Over and over, he did his best to shout. “ _Mine!_ ”

After a moment of whispered deliberation, he heard, “Very well, Mr. Graham. We’ll take him with us.”

Relief flooded Will at those words. His limp body was placed into the backseat of some vehicle he couldn’t find the strength to open his eyes to truly take in. However, despite his extreme weakness and fatigue, Will only allowed himself to finally pass out once the scent and sound of Hannibal’s still-pumping blood wafted through the air of the enclosed space. As long as Hannibal was still alive, Will could freely collapse into unconsciousness.

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally stirred back to life, just as the car, a limousine, pulled into a long driveway, a large mansion visible in the distance. Looking around and recognizing the landscape, Will realized that they weren't too far from his home in Wolf Trap.

Will felt groggy in a way he hadn’t experience since he’d been human. Swinging his gaze back inside the limo, he saw Hannibal sitting across from him, barely awake and looking rough. Their eyes connected but it seemed neither had the strength to speak. Will wordlessly asked if he was okay, and Hannibal responded with a curt nod, eying him warily. Will wanted to communicate that he didn’t feel like he was a threat anymore, but the car slowed to a stop and the side-door opened before he could say anything.

Several hands grasped at him, pulling him out of the car, hooking each of his arms over the shoulders of two young boys. Not waiting to see if he could walk, they dragged him up the steps of the mansion, his feet dragging behind him, and dropping him in front of the entranceway. Two more boys dragged Hannibal in ahead of him, leaving him crumpled on the ground.

Creasing his brow, Will reached forward and found he was met with an invisible barrier. Whoever owned this estate needed to invite him in. Will winced at his helplessness and inability to keep an eye on Hannibal. To keep him safe from whatever Will had gotten them into. 

“Well, well, well,” Will heard an odd, playful voice echo down the hallway in front of him. “If it isn’t my guest of _honour_.”

Will managed to lift his head enough to take in the bombastic gentleman approaching him. His blonde hair was wildly unkempt, pointing in all directions, which somehow went with the puffy white fur coat he seemed to be wearing in doors. From behind glasses, maniacal eyes observed Will’s defeated stature with both amusement and suspicion.

An unmistakable alertness reverberated through Will’s body, and he felt every hair quickly stand on end. He didn't even need to be told he was in the presence of another vampire; the demon in him _knew_.

“You’ll have to excuse the unfortunate _rudeness_ of being kept in the cold like this,” the blonde vampire said, his cadence bizarre as he stopped his stroll just inside the entranceway. “I’ll have Cordell extend an _invitation_ as soon as he gets back from parking the limo. Can’t keep the deed in _my own_ name, of course. You never know what kind of _riff raff_ might just let themselves into your home uninvited!”

He cast a twisted smirk downwards.

“Well, I guess _you_ do.”

Not that Will needed confirmation that he was in the presence of his anonymous tormenter, but upon hearing it, Will’s fury surged through him strongly enough to have him shaking. His fangs extended in anger and he could feel the veins surge around his eyes, colouring his entire world a monochromatic red. But even as he rose to challenge this sick son of a bitch to a brawl, hands clamped around his shoulders and kept him on his knees. Will was barely functioning on a level of consciousness above instinct, but even he could process that striking out at the young boys now would only leave him hurting in the long run.

He settled for snarling at the person who truly deserved it. “What the fuck do you want with me?”

“ _What_ do I want? What do I _want_?! To welcome you into the _family_ , of course!” The vampire stated gleefully, and then instantly switching into a chilling seriousness. “And to lay down a few house rules. Rules that I’m guessing _she_ never had the good sense to beat into you. But all in _due time_!”

The vampire crouched to his knees, his eye-line almost level with Will’s. “First, let me introduce _myself_."

He briefly reached his hand forward, but before it crossed the doorway barrier, he frantically drew his hand back, shaking his hear erratically and quietly scolding himself. Finally gathering his thoughts, he turned back to Will and offered a dark, perverse smile.

“My name is Mason Verger. But you, _Special Agent_ Graham, may exercise the _privilege_ of calling me ‘Master.’ Welcome to Muskrat Farm.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! *awkward cough* I know it's been such a long wait between chapters that I'm betting most of you forgot this fic even existed. Long story short; life happened, writer's block happened, several attempts at one-shots to kick-start my writing again happened (some of which you can go check out!). All I can say is I'm genuinely sorry for the long hiatus and hope a new chapter is enough of an apology for you to forgive me :D Enjoy!

“There. See? Alive!”

Hannibal’s eyelids fluttered open in the dim firelight of the ornate dining room. Strapped to a gurney and stationed upright, he realized he was no longer being moved through the long, open hallways of the Verger estate mansion. The large balding man, the one who had wielded magic in the ship-yard, was standing at Hannibal’s side, his arms folded humbly as he looked towards the light. Hannibal followed his gaze.

At the head of the table sat a young, bespectacled man of about thirty, straight hair standing at odd angles and body wrapped in a plush white robe. Legs crossed on the table as he slouched in his chair, his attention was entirely focused on the man seated to his left.

Will.

Their eyes met briefly, and the intensity of Will’s gaze was all Hannibal needed to force himself awake. Shielding his pained look, Will cast a glance back to the blonde.

“Barely alive.”

“Well, that’s hardly _my_ fault.”

Hannibal wished to correct their captor, as his intervention was indeed partly to blame, but as he was barely clinging to consciousness, he felt it best to remain silent for now.

After he’d been dragged into the mansion, Hannibal had spent an unknown period of time locked inside a dark pantry, refusing to succumb to the injuries both Will and their captor’s teenage subordinates had inflicted on him that evening. He suspected the only reason he was able to do that much were the remnants of Will’s blood still circulating from the previous day, the healing effects of which were weakening by the second. He’d been successful at surviving, but helpless to resist when the children hauled him onto the gurney.

But as luck would have it, his compliance had been rewarded; he’d been brought directly to the one person he wanted to see. Who was, in turn, staring at him intently.

“He’s bleeding internally,” Will said, almost clinically if it weren’t for the trace of guilt. “A few more hours left like that, and he’ll make a liar out of you, Mason.”

Mason pushed his glasses up his nose. Eyes passing over Hannibal as if he were a bug to be squashed, he turned to the man who’d brought him there. “Could you work some magic with a first aid kit, Cordell? Let it not be said your _master_ isn’t compassionate.”

Will’s air of detachment evaporated. “Christ, just let me heal him.”

Mason swung his head around, confused and bordering on angry. “I beg your _pardon_?”

“Why do you think I asked you to bring him here?”

Legs dropping with a loud thud, he turned to Will, muttering to himself as he folded his hands and leaned against the table. “To say _goodbye_? To watch him _die_? Certainly not,” he slapped his palm against the wood, “to insult me,” another slap, “by threatening to pollute my bloodline,” slap, “with some crusty,” slap, “ _old_ ,” slap, “shrink!” Slap, slap, slap.

After a beat, Will looked downwards. “You don’t heal them, after everything you do to them.”

Mason chuckled darkly. “I only made _that_ mistake once.”

“You wanted my attention.” Will narrowed his eyes.  “Keep it by assuring his safety. Let me heal him or I’m turning it off again.”

A twitch passed behind the blonde man’s glasses before he jumped out of his chair, slammed his fist on the table and pointed his finger with fury.

“You are in _no_ position to be making _demands_ of me, Mr. Graham!” Mason’s eyes pulsed with the same dark veins Hannibal had seen erupt on Will’s face a hundred times. “Painting the town red with your reckless _spree_ may as well have painted a big ol’ _target_ on both our backs! On the backs of every boy I’ve _chosen_ for my family. You will be _lucky_ if your doctor can die before I _decide_ to just slit your throats and feed you to my pigs!”

After witnessing this tantrum, Hannibal noted Will’s unfazed expression and smiled.

“Master?”  Cordell interjected meekly, and everyone’s attention instantly turned. “If I may remind you…”

Mason stopped dead in his tracks, as if he’d been slapped. But whatever Cordell was implying, it had an effect. The veins retracted and the whites of his eyes returned. His entire body relaxed as he slid down into the chair. He twisted his mouth before covering it entirely.

“What I _meant_ to say, was…” Strangely, Mason began to laugh from behind his fist. “I think we both know you’ve had quite enough _fun_ for one evening. But the human can stay here, under your watchful gaze, so long as you promise hear me out.”

Will’s eyes caught Hannibal’s briefly before drifting to the empty place setting in front of him. “Fine.”

As he was wheeled over to the table, Hannibal wondered what was stopping Will from speeding across it, opening a vein over his lips and then escaping with them both. Surely it wasn’t out of courtesy for their captor. Granted, he had read in one of his ancient texts that vampires gained strength as they aged; perhaps Will knew he’d be easily overpowered.

Surprisingly, instead of being left upright, Hannibal’s gurney clicked and folded with a distinctly mechanical whirr. Still bound by his restraints, he was at least appropriately seated for the occasion.

“Thank you, Cordell,” Hannibal smiled.

Mason cast him a glance that made it abundantly clear he was not permitted to exist, let alone to speak, and Hannibal nodded deferentially. Within seconds, his gaze was on Will again, all human distractions in the room entirely forgotten.

“My _father_ ,” Mason purred, “visionary and pioneer of animal husbandry that he was, taught me _a great many thing_ about livestock during the course of my human life. Which animal to breed, which to send to slaughter, and which fortunate creature to bring into our home and _beat_ into domesticity.” He leaned forward and ruffled Will’s hair. In that moment, seeing the reaction it elicited, Hannibal understood that Will had no choice but to let him. “All effective lessons I still carry with me to this day, mind you. Over a century after his death. But as _exhaustive_ as his expertise in animal breeding was, his philosophies on the breeding and welfare of human beings left something to be desired. I’ll be the first to admit Papa could be a bit _neglectful_ of my dear sister, and even though our lessons were drastically different, I daresay she learned as much from him about parenting as I did.”

Will flexed his hands as if he were bound to the chair by invisible chains. “Promise the last thing I feel right now is neglected.”

Hannibal, meanwhile, was all too focused on the revelation that this man was evidently not Will’s sire.

“Well not by _me_ , dear boy.” Mason’s voice was full of pep. “Never by me! I take pride in how _attentive_ I am to family, even if Margot never appreciated it.”

Something flashed in Will’s eyes at that, and it didn’t take long for Hannibal to understand that this was the first time Will had heard that name. Will cleared his throat, but buried the emotion quickly. “Hitting pretty hard on this family beat.”

“Because that’s what we are, Willy!” Mason slapped Will’s back, who visibly stiffened. “Her blood may have _birthed_ you, but I did make my own small _contribution_ to your existence. It’s like something out of the great Greek myths! Just think; my order to kill you makes me practically your _father_.”

“An apt metaphor.” Hannibal couldn’t resist from commenting, even as he struggled to stay awake. “Many fathers have entirely different intentions when their children are first conceived.”

Mason cocked his head towards Hannibal, clearly debating whether to punish or ignore him entirely. Surprisingly, he opted to respond. “Sure, I wanted him dead, but you can blame _Margot_ for that. Cozying up to a _homicide_ detective was practically an act of _war_! I had _no choice_ but to retaliate. But that’s all water under the bridge now. I’ve let you play out on your own for far too long; it’s time to come home.”

Will furrowed his brow. “So that’s why you left me…gifts…all over town?”

“I wanted to apologize in a way that _appealed_ to your interests.” Mason shrugged. “I’m normally not that _sloppy_ , leaving my leftovers on display. But what else could I do to get your _attention_ when you’ve been so obsessed with the Chesapeake Ripper?”

Will’s eyes instinctively raised to catch Hannibal’s, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Mason.

“Thoughts, doctor?” Mason rested his chin in his hand and began drumming his fingers along his cheek. “I’d like your insight while you’re still conscious. And I’d waive the doctor-patient confidentiality shtick if I were you.”

As much as he could, Hannibal tilted his head thoughtfully. “Obsession is in the eye of the beholder.”

Mason sighed, unimpressed. “Meaning?”

“A casual observer might see a dedicated parent as obsessed with their own child, but that degree of attention is biologically programmed and often necessary to produce a functioning human being. I would argue that the attention Will devotes to killers is similarly essential and involuntary. Just as is those same killers’ obsession with him.”

“Well, I can see why he pays to keep you around, doctor,” Mason nodded thoughtfully before winking, “and not just for the side _benefits_. Your approach to ethics is something I could really see myself opening up to.”

“Perhaps, if I survive this evening, I can schedule you in for a session.” Hannibal grinned. “Free of charge.”

Mason paused, then let out a loud, awkward burst of laughter before swinging around dramatically to face Will again. “Do you see the kind of good, _funny_ times me and your therapist are having? We can have that too. All you have to do is pledge your loyalty to me, promise not to go off the rails again, at least not quite so publicly, use your position in the FBI to sweep some evidence under the rug, yada yada yada…”

Will couldn’t have looked less impressed. “And in return?”

“You get to live.”

“Thought so.” Will bit his lip. “Let me heal him as a token of trust, and I’ll consider it.”

“ _Consider_?!”

“You left me out there, on my own, for months.” Will shrugged. “Your father must have taught you patience is required when domesticating a wild animal.”

“My father taught me to put down a rabid dog before it bites me in the ass,” Mason muttered, “but I preferred watch their madness consume them for as long as I could get away with it. Besides, fatherhood has put me in a _charitable_ mood. You’ve got two days to think about it. You can stand now.”

Will cocked his head before flexing his arms experimentally. He looked as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  He placed both hands on his armrests and slowly, somewhat disbelievingly, raised himself out of his chair. “May I heal him?”

“What?” Slumped on the table, Mason raised his brow. “Oh, right, always harping on about that. _Sure_.”  Will sped around the table and within seconds opened his wrist with his teeth, holding it to Hannibal’s lips. “But only this once, and you have to make sure he doesn’t die within the next 48 hours. Throw yourself in front of a train if you must.”

Tuning out Mason, Hannibal eagerly drank Will’s blood, pain receding and warmth radiating as his insides stitched themselves back together. He opened his eyes to find Will beaming down at him, joy and relief evident on his face.

Mason scoffed. “How sickeningly _sweet_. Tell me, what makes him so special?”

If Will had been in control of himself, he would’ve likely provided a snappy retort. Or said nothing. As things were, he replied, “He understands me like no one else ever has or will.”

“Oh please, that’s just the blood bond.”

Will turned inquisitively at this.

“Oh yes.” Mason seemed delighted at imparting this information. “Blood runs _deep_ , but it’s especially binding for vampires. The more you feed off each other, the closer you become, until you lose all sense of self. It’s quite _disturbing_ when you think of it, really. That’s why I’m quite selective of whose blood I take and only let them taste me once, if at all. Luckily, once is enough for most humans to fall in line, especially _impressionable_ little minds. But from the way you two are looking at each other, I wonder how many times you’ve let him taste you.”

“As many times as were necessary,” Hannibal countered.

“Oh I don’t believe that for a _second_. But far be it from me to judge. You can undo his straps now.”

Will began doing just that, and Hannibal felt the slow relief of pressure as they were removed one by one. “Bet you never thought this was how you wound up strapped to a gurney.”

Hannibal smiled as the final strap was unbuckled and he was free to stand of his own accord.

“What was that?” Mason asked.

Freezing momentarily, Will attempted nonchalance. “Just a joke.”

Mason rolled his eyes. “Tell me why you made it. Don’t _lie_.”

Hannibal watched as Will started and stopped speaking four or five times, fighting whatever words were threatening to tumble out of his mouth. “Because he belongs in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.”

Hannibal widened his eyes, and Will turned to him, apology plastered on his face.

“He seems perfectly sane to me."Mason furrowed his brow. "Tell me, _specifically_ , why you’d believe such a thing.”

Hannibal could see Will’s fist tighten beside him as the internal struggle raged again. He saw no reason for Will to suffer so on his behalf. “Because I’m the Chesapeake Ripper.”

The mixture of shock and delight on Mason’s face was almost worth the price of confession.

“Is that true, Will? Be honest.”

Will, who was himself stunned into silence, nodded reluctantly.

“How long have you known?”

“Since the moment I laid eyes on him.”

Mason rose from his chair and strode around the table, dragging his fingertips along the wood. “Well isn’t that _interesting._ ” His eyes darted back and forth between Hannibal and Will before finally landing on the taller man. “You know, you hope your children go out into the world and make the right decisions. Choose well for themselves. Well, I can’t imagine our dear Will here making a better choice than you.” He took Hannibal’s hand to shake it. “I’m sorry, we got off on the wrong foot. Let me introduce myself _properly_. Mason Verger, heir to the Verger meat packing fortune, master vampire and _big_ fan of your work.”

Hannibal returned the handshake. “I must admit, you have quite the artist’s eye yourself. Though I would expect no less from a man who’s had over a century to hone his craft.”

“Oh, _pshaw_! I was only deriving inspiration from your brilliance, _truly_. And to think, I was going to feed you to my pigs. Will?” Mason didn’t take his eyes off of Hannibal. “Take care of him. Bring him back with you in two day’s time and tell me your decision. Make the right one, or I’ll kill you. Slowly and theatrically. And I shouldn’t have to insist, but don’t leave town, don't tell the authorities and don't leave any clues that would implicate _any_ of us in something untoward.”

Will swallowed thickly and nodded. “No problem.”

“Fantastic.” Mason finally released Hannibal’s hand. “Cordell will see to it that you both get home safely.”

* * *

 

The door to Will’s home creaked as it slammed shut behind Hannibal, who followed Will into the kitchen. He whistled, ushering the dogs out the back door, before letting that door slam shut as well.

Not bothering to ask if it was wanted, Will pulled two glass tumblers out onto the counter and poured them each a finger of whiskey. Handing one to Hannibal, he drank his own down and poured himself another before swallowing that too. He didn’t care that he couldn’t digest it anymore. He just needed to feel the burn.

 In the distance, the limousine that had dropped them off could be heard pulling onto the road and driving off into the night. They were alone now.

The glass cracked in Will’s shaking hand. He smashed the remainder against the far wall.  “Fuck!”

Hannibal was at his side instinctively, plucking the shards from Will’s hand with care, even as the wounds sealed themselves in seconds. “Hold steady.”

“What’s the point?” Will just stared blankly at the back door. “We’re both dead anyway.”

Hannibal wet a cloth to wipe away the excess blood. “I take it you’re not considering his offer.”

“Consider it? I can barely stomach the thought of it.” Will turned his gaze to Hannibal. “I can barely stomach anything from the past few days. I’m so fucking sorry. About everything.”

Hannibal finished cleaning Will’s hand and set the cloth aside. “No need to apologize. You weren’t yourself, and what you became was quite illuminating.”

Will was not amused. He stared at his hand, repaired as if nothing had happened. “It was hell, not feeling. I’ve always wished for it in my worst moments, but I’ve never felt more dead.”

Will sighed as Hannibal raised a hand to his cheek. “Then we must do what we can, in our last few days, to keep you feeling alive.”

Will met Hannibal’s intense gaze and nearly melted into the touch. Instead, he pulled away and strode into the living room, Hannibal trailing behind him. “You should go. Leave. We don’t both have to die.”

“Will, I-“’

“I’ll have to try to stop you, of course.” Will reached underneath his desk and tossed what he found to Hannibal. “I don't know why, but I can’t fight his commands. I’ve tried. But you might have a fighting chance of slowing me down with that.”

Hannibal’s gaze fell to his hands, at what Will had thrown to him. A shotgun. He placed it on the side table. “No.”

Will tilted his head, an edge of threat in his voice. “Pick it up, Hannibal.”

“I won’t.”

Fury and grief and pain swelled inside Will and within an instant, he was pinning Hannibal to the wall and baring his fangs with a growl. “Goddamn it, do you have any idea how suffocating it is for someone _like me_ to have this much blood on my hands? I was breaking at four bodies. Now it’s close to forty. Do you think I can possibly bear the weight of your death too? _Run._ ”

“I can’t.” Hannibal panted with Will against him, appreciating his monstrous visage in its uninhibited display. “I’d rather die at your side than live without you.”

Will groaned, the veins around his eyes pulsating. “That’s just the bond talking. This isn’t you. Your nature is to slither out of everything.”

“I was aware of the bond from the start, Will.” Hannibal pulled Will closer towards him, their bodies flush. “Warnings over the dangers of tasting blood from a vampire came up repeatedly in my books, but I chose to withhold those translations from you. You’re right; my first instinct was to find a way to sever the connection. Instead, I chose to deepen it.” He tilted his head to the side, baring his neck. “My compassion for you has always been inconvenient.”

With the fear and adrenaline pumping through Will’s veins, he was unable to restrain the demon within him from dipping his nose into the crease of Hannibal’s neck and inhaling deeply. He could smell Hannibal’s compassion for him, taste his submission as he ran his tongue over the taught skin, feel the hunger that mirrored his own when fangs pierced finally pierced his flesh. As blood passed over his lips, he shuddered at the familiar calm. The indescribable warmth, which buzzed around the edges of his awareness when he’d turned off his empathy, now wove its way into his entire being.

Will didn’t drink much. He didn’t need to; he’d filled himself ten times over on the blood of the innocent. He took only enough to have a tangible grasp on what he must’ve known for months now; that Hannibal was his, that he was Hannibal’s, and only true death would sever that bond.

Barely registering as he retracted his fangs and Hannibal’s puncture wounds instantly healed, Will sought Hannibal’s gaze. “I can’t die without knowing how it feels for you to make love to me.”

Lids heavy, barely bleeding but entirely breathless, Hannibal wordlessly kissed Will.

Aggressive grips gave way to a possessive embrace, their lips unlatching and resealing as they haphazardly shed their clothing and stumbled towards Will’s pull-out bed. Hannibal gently pushed Will down to the mattress, following him down and pinning him there. Will could have easily overpowered him if he’d wanted to, but it was the furthest thing from his mind.

Hannibal leaned in, his lips barely brushing Will’s before his mouth travelled downward, tracing kisses along Will’s throat and collarbone. Firm hands gripping Will’s biceps, he sealed his lips around Will’s soft nipple, tongue flicking the tender nub hard as Will wriggled and writhed beneath him.

“Fuck your wicked tongue.”

Hannibal hummed. “Give me a moment.”

The kisses meandered as they continued downward, over Will’s chest and under his ribcage and up beneath his arms and back down across his firm abdomen. Any other lover might assume Hannibal was taking his sweet time to drive Will crazy. They wouldn’t have been entirely wrong, but Will knew this oral exploration was also genuine worship. A chance to taste that which Hannibal loved most with the mingled flavours of sensual vulnerability and anticipation. 

Will gripped the sheets as Hannibal’s head dipped lower and lower, mouth barely grazing his throbbing cock. Hannibal knelt down on the floor and shifted Will’s body before him, tilting his hips towards the ceiling. Will braced himself for what he knew was coming, and shivered as Hannibal’s sure tongue ran up the crease of his ass.

“Jesus,” Will moaned, holding himself steady even as every instinct told him to shield himself. It didn’t hurt that Hannibal’s tongue, which was now circling his rim with a gentle firmness, felt fucking divine.

Hannibal, for his part, was lost to the world between Will’s cheeks, the intimacy of tasting him there almost too much to bear. He twisted Will onto his stomach before truly allowing himself to feast, taking the globes of Will’s ass in each hand and dipping his tongue tentatively through the tight ring of muscle that was becoming noticeably more open by the second. Finally, Hannibal penetrated him fully, licking inside him, and Will was so overcome with sensation he found himself rutting against the mattress.

“Hannibal, please,” Will gasped, fistfuls of fabric bunched between his fingers as he cast a glance back over his shoulder. “I’m ready.”

“I have not yet-“

“I’m _ready_ ,” Will repeated. “I need you inside me now.”

Hannibal was stunned silent by the husky desperation in his voice, but it only lasted seconds before he nodded and climbed onto the bed. Will turned onto his back and trapped Hannibal between his legs, opening himself to him. Hannibal leaned down to kiss Will deeply, wrapping an arm beneath him as their cocks brushed together. Will chased the friction for a few thrusts before looking deeply into Hannibal’s eyes.

“ _Please_.”

Hannibal swallowed thickly before reaching down and guiding the head of his spit-slicked cock to Will’s opening. As he pressed in, Will bore down, grunting as Hannibal’s cock breached him and stretched him to the point of pain. If he were human, he would’ve asked to stop, but as he was, he only squeezed tightly at the back of Hannibal’s neck and reveled in the joy of feeling so full that he might split in two. When Hannibal bottomed out, he groaned and writhed and sighed.

Eyes fluttering open, he saw nothing but Hannibal’s bright, reverent gaze. He felt Hannibal’s hand along his cheekbone, thumb tracing underneath his eye and along his teeth. Will’s demon must have come to the surface again.

“Exquisite.” Hannibal’s voice was barely a whisper. “I love you.”

Will shifted to bring them both closer together, their skin touching at every possible contact point. “God must have finally forsaken me, because I love you, too.”

Hannibal grinned at that, punishing the slight with a small, quick thrust. Will cried out, but began moving his hips to coax Hannibal on.

“Come on,” he breathed, “make me feel it, enough to forget.”

Hannibal didn’t need to be told twice.

He began a slow, steady rhythm, his enormous, pulsing cock thrusting in and out of Will with a sensual tenderness that eventually devolved into a panting neediness. They kissed as Will met his pounding, sloppy, hungry kisses where Will could taste himself. Hannibal’s tongue traced the tips of Will’s fangs as his movements became more desperate, and the slightest shift in their bodies meant Hannibal’s thrusts had Will seeing stars.

“Oh, fuck, Hannibal, harder, like that, fuck me harder.”

“Bite me again,” Hannibal begged, his voice cracking with want. “Penetrate me as I penetrate you.”

A fever of passionate need overtook Will. With no effort at all, he had Hannibal on his back, arms pinned above him as he rode his cock. Hannibal turned his head and Will was at his neck instantly, piercing the flesh with his fangs and drinking down the burst of hot liquid at his tongue. The connection was impossibly strong this time; they weren’t two halves or two sides of the same coin. With Hannibal inside of him and their blood flowing in each other’s veins, they were one.

Hannibal moaned more loudly than Will had ever heard him, and he kept drinking and fucking himself onto Hannibal’s cock. When he eventually pulled back to stare down at Hannibal, blood droplets fell from his chin, peppering Hannibal’s chest and neck with little red spots. Hannibal gripped the back of Will’s head and pulled their mouths hard together, lapping up the blood at his lips as he pounded into Will with abandon.

When Will finally reached down to stroke himself, it didn’t take long then for both Will and Hannibal to reach their respective climaxes, seconds apart. Will came first, blood dripping down his chin, Hannibal’s magnificent cock thrusting against his prostate as he released himself against Hannibal’s stomach. The second his seed hit Hannibal’s skin, he was coming too, sobbing and shuddering, his release deep inside Will, filling him up to the brim. Will’s empathy was so entirely attuned to Hannibal in that moment, he nearly passed out from the strength of orgasming twice in such a short span of time.

Collapsing against Hannibal, reverberations of every wonderful sensation still vibrating through him, Will sighed. He didn’t care how much of Hannibal’s own blood he was smearing against Hannibal’s chest, because he knew Hannibal loved it. Loved him. Loved everything about him; not just his empathy, or his being a vampire, but who he was as a person. Will had never had something so beautiful. He tried not to focus on how fleeting it would be.

“I’m glad you didn’t run,” Will sighed. “Selfish of me to admit, but I can’t live without you anymore either.”

Will clenched as Hannibal’s flagging erection slipped out of him, feeling the warm, liquid remnants of his love trickle out of his opening. Hannibal moaned and pulled Will into a proper embrace against him. “I believe I was briefly able to feel you, as you feel me, in the heat of it. Is your empathy always so intense?”

“Nothing is that intense, but sometimes letting other killers inside comes close.” Will bit his lip. “Mason wasn’t wrong. Even before I knew you, I was obsessed with you. You’re…different from them. None of them have your vision.”

“You are the only object in my vision now, Will Graham.” Hannibal kissed the crown of Will’s head. “If you ever said to me ‘stop,’ I would stop.”

Will sighed. “I’m not saying ‘stop.’”

“I know. It’s one of the infinite reasons why I love you.”

Will kissed Hannibal’s blood-splattered chest and snuggled against it. He could feel dawn approaching and it triggered a wave of drowsiness hit him. As he started to drift into sleep, he had the thought that there’d be worse ways to spend his last few days than fucking and feeding and sleeping with Hannibal.

A few solid knocks broke him out of that daydream. Will rubbed his eyes and followed the sound to the front door.

“Morning, lovebirds,” came the smoky, feminine voice through the window. “Hate to kill the mood, but I'd say it's time for a chat.”

A gorgeous, slender woman with light brown hair and severe eyebrows stood in the doorway. Will felt the air sucked out of the room. Not bothering to shield his nudity or the evidence of his bloodlust, he crawled to the edge of the bed and stood.

“Hello, Margot.”

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued...
> 
> [tumblr](http://illyriashell.tumblr.com/)


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